


Don't Count Your Gusses before They're Safe

by PapayaK



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, eidetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-14 11:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2189550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PapayaK/pseuds/PapayaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hurt-Comfort / Angst<br/>Sort of an Episode Tag to 'Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark'<br/>Disclaimer: Don't own Psych but I do have a pineapple. </p><p>Wow. Just Wow. I never expected to get totally sucked in by Psych. I wrote my first story, 'Succulent Crab Cakes' because I was fascinated by the unlikely hero with the incredible abilities all hidden behind a façade of boyish charm that is Shawn Spencer – but then I couldn't stop.</p><p>Anyways – this story quickly took on a life of its own and surprised me by becoming over twice as long as anything I've written previously.</p><p>There will be Friendship and Love (but not the romantic kind). There will be Whump and Angst, a mystery to solve and hopefully it will all make sense at the end. (Feel free to call me on it if it doesn't)</p><p>Also - just to clarify, we know that 'Garth Longmore' survived being shot, since he is seen being loaded into an ambulance in "Shawn Takes a Shot" but for the purposes of this story, he died en route.</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Purest Form of Freedom

oO0Oo  
The Purest Form of Freedom  
oO0Oo

It was a perfect Santa Barbara morning. Just the kind everyone in the frozen Midwest dreams about as they shovel another foot of snow: Bright sunshine in a clear blue sky, warm but not quite hot, with just a bit of breeze off the ocean. It was perfect. And Shawn Spencer was happy; purely, simply, uncomplicatedly happy. For a man who was pretty much accustomed to living his life in that state, it had been far too long since he had felt this way.

He had just spent an absolutely glorious hour taking full advantage of the weather in his favorite way: He'd been zipping up and down the highway along the ocean on his Norton. Weaving in and out of traffic; Earning more than a few glares from moms in minivans; Going just slightly over the speed limit (because having to talk his way out of a ticket from one of the SBPD's finest was just not on the agenda for today); And feeling the wind in his face.

It really was the purest form of freedom he had ever experienced.

Driving his bike wasn't really a good idea right now. IF he stopped to think about it: it was actually pretty stupid – okay, really stupid: It caused his healing shoulder to ache like – well, like it still had a hole in it – which technically it did.

He carried the unfortunate knowledge that the bullet hole in his scapula wouldn't fully close for four to six weeks yet and, until it did, moving that arm, even a little bit, hurt. And leaning on it, like he did to ride his bike was uncomfortable to say the least.

Shawn's response to this fact was to NOT 'stop to think about it.'

The freedom that was the Norton made him feel alive! And he was far overdue for a little freedom!

(Plus he had every intention of hitting up Gus for some aspirin as soon as he got to the office.)

This morning he needed the feeling of freedom because the whole 'Rollins thing' was finally over.

He pulled off the highway and started making his leisurely way toward Psych, thinking about the last several days.

He still had trouble believing just how fast everything had happened. The DA had really needed a high profile conviction if she was going to win the upcoming elections, so she had pushed for Rollins' trial to start much sooner than it normally would. MUCH sooner.

At the time, he had been tickled by the fact that thwarting an armored truck robbery and being shot was considered 'high profile.' – He was famous!

Henry, on the other hand, had been absolutely furious. He had insisted that Shawn should have at least a week to recover before taking the stand. But the DA wasn't listening. They had Rollins red-handed for murder, assault, accessory to kidnapping, shooting a police consultant and planning to empty an armored truck.

And they had a star witness. It wasn't like they needed time to collect more evidence.

Henry argued – and was over-ruled. Shawn had been surprised and a little confused by the strength of his Dad's feelings.

As things went, Lassie had picked him up from the hospital less than 48 hours after he'd been rescued, and driven him straight to the courthouse.

As the trial began, Shawn hadn't seen a problem with it: he'd just been looking forward to getting the whole thing over with. Plus, 'star witness!' He'd cut out a cardboard star and taped it to the front door at Psych. Gus had added glitter…

He really hated it when his dad was right. By the end of the first day, he knew his dad had been right.

The trial had been a nightmare. He sucked his teeth at the memory. Memory. That was the problem: His stupid memory. They had wanted all the details and he had been under strict instructions not to make light of anything. Shawn Spencer? Not make a joke? out of anything?

Recalling every little detail (he couldn't not) of difficult or unpleasant events was truly painful when he couldn't make jokes. Humor was an effective tool he used in order to survive. He'd taught himself the technique many years ago.

But in the interests of justice he had done it. He'd managed to stick to just the facts, ma'am.

He'd answered a lot of questions he hadn't realized he wasn't quite ready for yet, thank-you very much.

He'd had to describe everything that had happened to him. In detail.

And the worst part about that was the fact that Henry was there: His dad, whom he found out later, had moved heaven and earth to find him.

He hadn't wanted Henry to know half that stuff: The gunshot - well – he knew about that part, but the desperate, terrified dash through the forest, the multiple blows to the head, the choking, the knowing that there was a very good chance he was going to die...

But his dad sat, watched, and listened to him describe one of the worst events of his life to a bunch of people who couldn't have cared less.

Yep, if that ever happened again he would be busy elsewhere.

Maybe Mexico.

He never stuck around for this part of his cases. He caught the bad guy. He delivered the proof. (Not necessarily in that order) That was it. Then he was on to the next case.

But he'd made it through. It was over. Rollins had been convicted and sent away. It was over.

'Poor Garth,' Shawn snorted to himself, thinking of his testimony as he pulled up in front of the Psych office. Yes, he was well aware that 'Garth' was not really his name, but it was permanently stuck in his head that way, and it would take more effort than he wanted to spend to change it.

'Garth' was the one responsible for the hole in his shoulder… but he was actually a pretty good guy underneath it all, and Shawn didn't hold a little 'lead poisoning' against him. In fact, if it weren't for Garth, he'd be pushing up daisies right now. No. Rollins was the bad guy. Rollins was the 'master thief' and the murderer, and Rollins had been put in prison for the rest of his life.

Literally – the rest of his life.

Two days after being incarcerated, Eric Rollins had been killed in a random prison fight. End of story.

Shawn shook his head, thinking about the days following the trial.

During the trial, his dad wouldn't let him go home to his apartment at the old Fluff 'n Fold. And then for several days after the conviction as well, he'd been 'incarcerated' at the old homestead. His Dad had watched him as if he were about to sprout an extra head. At the same time he seemed even more laconic than usual - if that were possible.

Shawn had found his imprisonment extremely annoying not to mention pointless. The only reason (at least to the younger Spencer's way of thinking) that Henry had insisted on having him as a house guest was because he had received some threats during the trial.

The threats had been nothing too scary and, unfortunately, not even anything too unusual. Since Psych had started enjoying some measure of fame and fortune, threats were not an unheard-of occurrence. Shawn rarely paid much attention to them anymore – and especially not these – he could see no reason to as the only person they needed to worry about in this case (or any other recent case) was dead.

Henry worried about them, of course, having nearly lost his only child the previous week. But Shawn didn't. And the threats had stopped coming.

But Henry had insisted on keeping him home anyway, and as much as Shawn had whined about it at the time, 'I'm okay, Dad! I don't need a babysitter!' he had been glad, that first night after the trial ended, to crash in his old bedroom and sleep soundly for the next eighteen hours straight.

He hadn't realized just how exhausted he actually was.

When he had wandered blearily into the kitchen the next afternoon, Henry had frowned and scolded and complained about having a teenager again, but he had also put a warm stack of pancakes and a pot of coffee on the table before flopping on the couch with the newspaper.

Yeah – sometimes it was good to be home.

But now he had arrived at his 'second home.' He grinned happily at the office he shared with Gus. He pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm, automatically running a hand through his hair.

He was excited to see Gus. If not for his best buddy, this morning's freedom would have extended into at least a week of mornings in Tijuana. If not for his partner, he may never have returned.

The last several days had been really hard on Gus, too. Just because he didn't verbalize it – would never verbalize it - didn't mean he didn't know – didn't mean he didn't care.

He was looking forward to seeing Gus because, way too early this morning, Chief Vick had called him with a new case: a murder, and they were off on a new adventure.

The Rollins thing was firmly behind them and they were on to something new. It was just what they needed to put bad memories to bed. He couldn't wait to tell Gus all about it! He grabbed the door handle and bounced in.

Once through the door, though, he froze.

The grin vanished.

Fear wrapped cold fingers around his heart and yanked it into his stomach.

Gus's side of the office was completely trashed.

Shawn swallowed hard. It was obvious a major struggle had taken place. Could someone have acted on the threats that Shawn had dismissed? Suddenly, it seemed possible if not likely.

"GUS!" Shawn shouted. He quickly checked every corner of the office. No Gus. He dialed Gus's phone- straight to voicemail. He called Gus's real job- he hadn't come in that morning. And the Blueberry had been parked outside when he pulled up.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them he was in overdrive. He took in every inch of the office: every broken piece, every shifted bit of furniture, every disturbed fiber of carpet, every torn paper. He especially noted the bit of cloth caught on the edge of Gus's bookshelf – could be from the kidnapper's shirt. One sheet of paper had been stomped on and held a partial boot print- not Gus's. There were a few items that might hold fingerprints…

He also saw what was missing: There was no note – no ransom demand. And that fact made his stomach twist. Maybe it was coming yet – or maybe it wasn't.

'Wasn't' was worse.

Maybe if he hadn't taken the long way into work- He quickly shook his head. He knew thinking that way wouldn't help Gus.

He grabbed his phone and was about to call Jules when one more detail caught his eye. He couldn't believe he had missed it the first time. But more likely he hadn't missed it - he had just blocked it out: there was a spot on the edge of Gus's desk that was tinged with blood. Just a trace – but it was easy to see Gus's head being… Shawn scrunched his eyes shut tight. 'Don't see it. Don't see it.' He begged was partially successful at least and dismissed the image before it could lodge in his brain. It would be back, he was sure of that, and when it returned he knew he would be able to see little else.  
But right now he had to be able to function.

He dialed Juliet's number.

She answered on the first ring, "Shawn! I was just about to call you. Patrol found a van we believe must have been used in a murder- maybe the one Chief Vick called you in on. It was stolen late yesterday, and it's  
been abandoned, but she wants you down here to see if you can read anything off it."

"Jules." He said; then stopped. He couldn't continue.

Instantly she knew something was wrong. "Shawn? What is it?"

Shawn swallowed and forced out the words, "Gus is in trouble."

"What?!" he could hear her gasp on the other end of the line, "When? Shawn, what are you talking about?"

"Remember those threats we got? I just got to the office and it is trashed. Must have happened this morning. Last I saw him it was late and he was going home to get some sleep. And…"

"Then you need to get down here, Shawn, now. This van was ditched sometime this morning. And I'll send CSU to Psych when they're done here."

They both stayed silent on the line for a moment. Could the crime scenes be connected? Could the van belong to whoever had grabbed Gus? They'd thrown him in the van and then later ditched it for… for what?  
Jules had said, 'murder.'

"On my way." Shawn responded tightly once she had given him the location.

His mind racing, he pulled on his helmet and was down the street before he fully realized he had left the office.

TBC…  



	2. Eidetic - Schmeidetic

oO0Oo  
Eidetic – Schmeidetic  
oO0Oo

He broke several traffic laws on the way over, nearly getting clipped by at least one vehicle, but he made record time.

When he pulled up and parked between Lassie’s car and the CSU van, he quickly surveyed the scene. There was a white cargo van, the center of attention, parked crookedly against the curb as if it had been abandoned in a hurry. All the doors were open and CSU was already at work inside. Next to it was a small park, dotted with benches and a couple picnic tables. There were three streets that met at the corner of the park, so there was plenty of room to do a vehicle switch, and enough greenery that it wouldn’t be terribly obvious to a casual observer.

Lassie and Juliet were speaking with one of their officers while others canvassed the area talking to the few pedestrians, and the one mom who had made the mistake of picking today as ‘park day.’ She tried to corral a busy toddler as the officer questioning her wrote in his notebook.

He was aggravated to see his dad there, near the two detectives. Jules must have called him. He still didn’t need a babysitter! He could handle this. Especially after everything else he had handled over the past weeks! 

He was also oddly glad, but he didn’t examine that particular feeling too closely at the moment.

The two Spencers’ eyes met, Henry’s looking particularly grim, and then Shawn was striding toward the van.

Juliet surprised him by jogging towards him to intercept, “Shawn, wait!” she called.

‘Wait? Wait!? Are you kidding me? Everything I need to find Gus could be in that van.’ Shawn thought impatiently as he reached the open side doors.

Then he froze.

The floor of the empty cargo van was covered with blood. 

Maybe he couldn’t handle this…

Juliet jogged up behind him. She had been hoping to catch him before he saw the van. Hoping somehow to warn him, prepare him. She hadn’t seen the inside of the van until Shawn was already on his way. It wasn’t until she saw the blood that she had called Henry. CSU had already done a basic type of the blood, but at that moment, all her focus was on Shawn.

She had seen him freeze the moment he cleared the door. Was he even breathing? He was standing perfectly still staring at the blood.

She slowed her approach, “Shawn?” 

No response. 

“Shawn?”

“Was it typed… yet?” he whispered to her, his eyes not leaving the sight. It was a desperate attempt to prove to himself that the blood wasn’t Gus’s; That this van was something completely separate; Unrelated;   
Please let it be something else… someone else… not Gus.

“AB positive.” She told him, “Do you know what blood type Gus…” her voice trailed off as he visibly paled. She took that to mean AB+ was Gus’s type. 

The stakes had been high before... They just got a whole lot higher. She swallowed her own fear as she thought about what Shawn must be feeling. 

He watched, mesmerized, as CSU picked something out of a crevice in the door. It was a small scrap of fabric. They placed it carefully into an evidence bag.

“Gus’s?” She asked.

He only swallowed, not even trusting himself to nod.

She took a step closer and put her hand on his arm, but he showed no sign of having felt it. “Shawn, Gus isn’t the only person in Santa Barbara with AB positive blood and a blue shirt. It doesn’t mean…” She looked up at him, “Shawn?” 

He was pale, but he wasn’t staring. She frowned in concern when she realized he didn’t seem to be seeing the reddish-brown stain at all. He was frowning, and beneath heavy brows his eyes were darting around, but they didn’t seem to be focusing on anything.

“Shawn? Are you having a vision?”

He didn’t move, but he did respond, “Jules?” he breathed. 

She quickly grabbed his arm when he managed to blink and stumbled back a step. “C’mon Shawn, sit.” Now that he had started moving she was able to guide him to one of the park benches a few steps away.

He sat heavily, and she could hear the elder Spencer approaching, along with her partner.

Henry had watched Shawn as he approached the van. He was concerned about how the sight would affect his son – especially considering he wasn’t physically up to any of this. His bullet wound wasn’t close to being healed, and yet, here he was, dealing with the disappearance of the one steadying presence in his life.

When he saw Shawn’s reaction, he headed over. 

Shawn sat hunched over, alternately closing his eyes tight, and then opening them only to have his gaze dart around once more.

“Shawn, what is it?” She asked gently. ‘stupid question!’ she chided herself. “What do you see?” 

Because she believed he was having an intense psychic vision, Shawn realized she wasn’t going to be any help to him. He shook his head vigorously.

And he needed help. 

He needed help. As much as it killed him to admit it, he needed help.

This still happened to him once in a while: His stupid brain – his stupid memory - simply decided to have a mind of its own and refused to listen to him. It had happened occasionally when he was little, but his parents, especially his dad, had taught him how to focus – to take back control. ‘Focus, Shawn!’ he heard Henry’s voice in his head.

He was frustrated, because –usually- he was able to regain control after only a second or two. Anyone who noticed his lapse just thought he was easily distracted or simply being immature and he could easily laugh it off – but now? This? Gus’s blood? 

He really didn’t have time for this. He needed to be finding Gus – not freaking out!

He needed help. 

“Get my dad.” He whispered, desperate. Fists clenched tight.

And Henry was there, kneeling in front of him. 

“Give us a minute?” Henry told the detectives, making it clear it wasn’t a question. 

They backed off.

“Shawn.” Henry took hold of both arms and held on tightly, knowing the physical contact would help to ground his son. “What do you see?” Odd that he asked the same question Juliet had, but with totally different meaning.

Shawn managed to meet his father’s eyes briefly, but he couldn’t hold the gaze.

“What do you see?” he repeated.

“Everything,” came out in a soft growl and Henry pursed his lips in concern, “Everything.”

Henry and Maddie had taken Shawn to a child psychologist many years ago, when they’d first realized that his eidetic memory was far stronger than his mother’s. Where she could remember conversations, he remembered everything. 

Shawn continued, his voice soft but desperate, “Every case- every dead body- every bit of blood- but it’s… but it’s all Gus.”

Henry closed his eyes. He couldn’t even imagine what his son was going through.

The doctor had warned them that their son, assuming he kept the ability beyond childhood, would always be socially awkward. He would never be able to process memory like a normal person and so he would be unable to relate to others in a normal fashion. 

Shawn went on, “I can see Garth Longmore, shot,” He shook his head, eyes scrunching up in confusion, “– only with Gus’s face. My- My hands,” he lifted them, as if to show to his father, “covered with blood again, but it’s Gus’s blood not mine...” the hands formed fists, “I can see the bullet-” he paused and glanced up at Henry for an instant before his eyes resumed their travel, “Did I tell you I watched? That I could see it?” he spoke through clenched teeth, “You’re not supposed to be able to follow a bullet but I did.” His fingertip slowly traced an invisible line from near Henry’s shoulder to his own as he spoke, “I saw it leave the barrel. Watched it travel the distance. It tore into…” he swallowed quickly, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing, “only now it’s Gus’s shoulder, Dad. It’s Gus’s heart.” His now shaking hands folded again into fists.

He would also be continuously plagued by severe depression due to the complete inability to forget the unpleasant things in life. His would ever be a very serious, probably very dark personality.

“Shawn-” Henry began to speak – to redirect, but Shawn wasn’t finished.

“I can’t stop seeing them! I can see every single corpse from every case – even ones from your old files – but they’re all Gus.” His eyes finally locked onto his father’s – a good sign, “And they’re All. My. Fault.” He finished on a whisper. His eyes closed. A single tear escaped, but Henry didn’t think he was aware of it. Then he was lost in the memories once again.

‘There it was…’ thought Henry with a sad sigh, ‘That was what he had to get out before he could go on: guilt. He feels responsible for this – for Gus. It’s not his fault, of course, but he won’t hear that right now… ’ 

Henry had flatly refused to accept the doctor’s diagnosis. There was no way his son’s gift was going to be a handicap. Not if he had anything to say about it. He had begun Shawn’s training that day.

And this day was no different.

“Shawn. Look at me.” He commanded quietly, mindful of the nearby detectives. 

“Look at me.” He said again slightly louder. 

Thankfully, Shawn finally did. He could tell it wasn’t easy, but his son’s eyes had once more latched on to his own. It was time to redirect; to refocus.

“When was the last time you saw Gus?” no response, “Shawn?!” he reiterated when he saw his son begin to lose focus, “Shawn? Answer me.” The first step was to replace what Shawn was seeing with a healthier version of his best friend.

Shawn frowned, his head slowly swinging from side to side, “I can’t…”

“Shawn. Tell me. When was the last time you saw Gus? Think!”

Shawn swallowed hard and squinted at his dad. “I…”

“That’s it,” Henry encouraged, “Think. Gus. What? Did’ya get tacos? Go to a movie? What? Focus, Shawn.”

And then it finally worked. He saw it in his son’s eyes:

Next to an army of wounded, dying and dead Guses, Shawn finally saw, far off in the vast distance in his mind, one, individual Gus. One healthy, whole Gus. He wasn’t much, compared to the army – but he was there.

And then, finally, the memories began to fade. They weren’t going away, not by a long shot, they never went away. But they were fading to their usual places, with their usual not-Gus faces. He was getting back to the level at which he normally functioned. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. The faintest hint of a smile touched a corners of Shawn’s mouth as he said, “Last night – we played video games before he went home.”

Henry nodded at him, encouraging, “That’s it, Shawn. You played video games…?”

“He won. Every game. He won – was real smug about it, too.”

And there it was – the close-up, real, smiling version of a healthy and whole Gus. Shawn smiled slightly more, was able to breathe, slightly more. He straightened, nodded once at his father, his ‘thank-you.’ unspoken.

Henry nodded back – ‘you’re welcome.’ 

Words were not necessary.

But then Shawn lost the smile. “Gus is out there somewhere; Hurt – maybe badly. There was so much blood…” His eyes flicked to the van, “And I don’t… I don’t know where to begin.”

Henry nodded seriously and moved to sit beside Shawn on the bench, their shoulders barely touching. “You think this had something to do with those threats?” Juliet had mentioned it when she’d called him.

Shawn nodded, “Maybe…” He was staring at the middle distance, and Henry knew he was seeing each, individual threat, and studying them, one by one, once again. Each one warned the ‘star witness’ to let Rollins off. Each one had a different, creative punishment if he didn’t. 

Henry sent questions at Shawn, rapid-fire: “Were they handwritten or printed?”

“Written.”

“Pen or pencil?”

“Pen.”

“What color was the ink?”

“Black.”

“Mood of the writer?”

“Angry.”

“Man or woman?”

“Woman.”

“What’d she look like?”

“Brown hair. Average height. Dark eyes…” Shawn looked up at Henry, slightly surprised.

“You always see more than you think you do.” Henry told him, nodding encouragingly, “What’s her name?”

But there, Shawn shook his head, “Don’t know.”

Henry continued, “Was she at the courthouse?”

Shawn nodded. He could see the woman clearly now. “She was there every day.”

“Was she the only one? How certain are you that it was her?”

Shawn put fingers to head, closed his eyes and quickly went over all the spectators from every day of the trial.

A few moments later he answered, “She wasn’t the only one who was there every day. But she is the only one, besides you and Gus, who was there first thing every morning until the bitter end of each day. And she never smiled.”

“Good work, Son. Now you have somewhere to start.”

With that exchange, Shawn took a deep breath, placed a hand on his father’s shoulder and stood. His hand remained where it was a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary before one finger went to his temple, and he turned to the detectives. “I know who did this!”

oO0Oo

Lassiter released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He didn’t know what had happened there – between father and son, but it had been intense. He was glad it was over and they could get busy finding the missing member of their team. He was almost as determined as the psychic was to find Guster. 

And, yes, he was glad no one else could hear him think of Gus as ‘part of the team.’

But Juliet beat him to the punch, “What can you tell us, Shawn?” Unlike her partner she had seen Shawn’s face, and had been more than a little unsettled by it. But the entire episode hadn’t lasted long and he seemed back to his old self. And if she could help with the normalcy, she would.

Shawn now put both fingers to his temples and began, fully intending to leave out most of his usual theatrics, “I’m seeing a person. A person with…” his hands left his head to form the curvy waves of a woman’s body... (he intended to leave out most of the theatrics… not all of them) “A woman – person. Brown hair. Leather jacket…”

“Sketch artist?” Juliet suggested.

Shawn’s eyes popped open. “That could work.” Then he grimaced and groaned and grabbed at his shoulder.

Juliet started forward in concern, but Shawn waved her off. He wasn’t finished with his vision yet. “Garth. Poor Garth.”

Lassiter and Jules exchanged incredulous looks at the ‘poor.’

But Shawn was oblivious, “Garth! Rollins! The Trial!!! She was there! She has something- to do- with the trial!” He fell to his knees before Juliet, grabbed one of her hands and held it to his face. 

She let it stay there for half a second before pulling free and turning to her partner.

Lassiter was just happy to get some traction – to have something upon which to act. Even if it was one of Spencer’s visions, it was better than standing around here, twiddling his thumbs. “O’Hara, let’s get back to the station and start compiling any information we have about the spectators at the trial. See if we can make a connection to that van.”

“I’ll see about security footage too,” She added and Lassiter nodded at her as she turned back to Shawn, “I’ll have the sketch artist waiting for you.”

“I’ll meet you there!” Shawn called after them as they left. He had one thing he had to do before then.

oO0Oo

Shawn took a deep breath and turned toward the van where CSU was still hard at work. 

His dad, whom Shawn had sort of forgotten was still there, put a restraining hand on his arm. “Are you sure, kid?” he asked, fully expecting, and partially hoping for a sarcastic retort.

But Shawn just looked at him, “I have to. For Gus. There could be something there.” He glanced away, “I didn’t see enough the first time.”

His dad just nodded grimly at his son’s back as he walked away.

This time, when Shawn arrived at the open doors he knew exactly what he was doing: His eyes quickly scanned every inch, top to bottom, and left to right, inside and out. He took in everything: every sight, every sound, every scent. There HAD to be something here. Even if he didn’t understand its significance now, he had to see it and be able to remember it later.

He noted a few things immediately: There was no blood spatter on the walls of the van. That was good. If there had been, it would mean that an artery… Shawn swallowed and continued his scan. The plates on the van had been removed, but there was a logo on the outside that had been hastily painted over. He ran his hands over the obscured lettering: B. Schreiner. He didn’t know if it was significant, but he would remember it.

When he felt he had seen everything he could possibly see, he said good-by to the CSU guys and headed for his bike, glad to see that his dad had already left. 

TBC…


	3. Of Friends and Puzzles

oO0Oo  
Of Friends and Puzzles  
oO0Oo

Gus moaned as he started to wake up. “Shawn, I am going to kill you…” he mumbled as the fog in his brain lifted slightly. “Shawn?”

Waking up in a dark room with a throbbing head was decidedly not on Gus’s to-do list. But if he had to, Shawn had better be right there beside him. Shawn was always beside him whenever there was trouble. Maybe he just wasn’t answering… wasn’t awake yet, or was just being stubborn. 

Gus tried to look around. He was lying on his side on the floor, and moving his head hurt, so he really couldn’t see much from his position. As far as he could tell, he seemed to be alone in a dark warehouse which had been abandoned some time ago from the look of things.

Then he realized he would have to sit up in order to see the rest of his surroundings.

He tried to, but a few things immediately screamed for attention: First, and screaming the loudest, (or was that him?) there was an intense burning pain in his left thigh. Second, his hands were tied firmly behind his back. And third, there was no sign of Shawn- and therefore no help.

He decided maybe it would be best to pass out for a while.

oO0Oo

Returning to the station, Shawn passed Buzz on the way in. The young officer was paging through a file as he walked. “Is that the list of spectators from the trial?” he inquired.

“Hm? Oh, hi, Shawn,” The tall officer responded, “This?” he held up the file so Shawn could see it better, “Just doing some legwork on this demolition case. Some spare uniforms, some dynamite and one of their vehicles were stolen from a warehouse that’s scheduled to be demolished. Detective O’Hara has the list you’re looking for in the Chief’s office.”

Shawn couldn’t help taking a look at the file he was currently holding, “They’re gonna blow up a building? That’s so cool!” Shawn said distractedly, “I’ve always wanted to see that. Wait… Some dynamite was stolen?” He didn’t like to think there was someone wandering around Santa Barbara with the makings of a bomb, no matter what else he had on his mind.

But McNabb put him somewhat at ease, “It’s not a lot – they only made off with three sticks.”

“SPENCER!” Lassiter shouted from the office.

Shawn patted McNabb on the shoulder, “Guess that’s me- glad you’re on the case!”

As he turned to leave, McNabb called after him, “I know you’ll find Gus soon!”

Shawn gave him a small smile of thanks, thinking, ‘I wish I was as sure.’

oO0Oo

When Gus woke up the second time, things were slightly clearer. He didn’t try to move right away, though; having learned his lesson last time.

He remembered coming into the office that morning. He’d had some paperwork he wanted to finish before he made his rounds that day, and he had hoped to finish it in peace before Shawn arrived and insisted they do something. He knew that Shawn’s dad had released him from house arrest the night before and since they didn’t have a new case to work on, that would mean that Shawn would be bored. And a bored Shawn was a dangerous Shawn. 

When he had heard the front door open, he had naturally assumed it was the man in question. 

It hadn’t been. 

A man in a mask had come at him with a knife. Without thinking, Gus had grabbed the guy’s hands. All he had been able to think about was keeping that knife away from his body. They had struggled, but finally he had lost his footing. He didn’t remember much after that.

So he had been alone when he was attacked. Was he alone now? “Shawn?” he asked again. No answer. 

Time to call in the cavalry. Without moving any other part of his anatomy, he slid his left hand around to his back pocket. All he had to do was call, and rescue would be on the way.

Only, of course, his cell phone wasn’t there.

He checked the other pocket. He looked at the floor around him, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t just dropped it.

Maybe had had lost it in the struggle – more likely it had been taken from him.

Either way it was high time he got a better look at his surroundings.

Okay. Last time, sitting up hadn’t gone so well. Maybe he could just roll over.

That was slightly more manageable, but the pain in his thigh still went from a dull throb to a screaming protest. When had such a simple task taken all the strength he had? He felt like he was trying to roll the Hulk! 

And then he felt something warm spreading through the fabric of his khakis. He looked down at his leg and instantly regretted it. There was a cloth tied tightly around his thigh, but the entire leg from his upper thigh to below his knee was soaked in a dark liquid, and it was slowly spreading. 

Gus swallowed, feeling suddenly dizzy. In rolling over, he had caused his stab wound to re-open and it was bleeding again. A narrow shaft of light glinted on the dark red stain and he once again passed out.

oO0Oo

When Shawn joined the group in the Chief’s office, he immediately sat down with the sketch artist. Lassiter and O’Hara were pouring over lists of names and comparing them with screen shots from the courthouse security footage.

The artist had worked with the young psychic before and always enjoyed it. Where usually she was frustrated by people who told her to draw a nose one way one moment, only to change it completely the next, Shawn’s descriptions were always wonderfully clear, if a little mischievous. 

No playfulness today, though. He shot facial features at her as fast as she could draw them, only making slight corrections here and there as she didn’t quite follow his descriptions. They were finished in record time.

She handed the drawing to Shawn who took it to Lassie. “That’s her. Who is she?”

“They don’t do assigned seats in the courtroom, Spencer,” Lassie pointed out, already handing the drawing off to a clerk, “Run facial recognition, and send this to the bailiff that was on duty. See if he recognizes her.”

“That’s not good enough.” Shawn’s knees were bobbing as if at any moment he would dash off in a mad sprint.

Lassie went toe to toe with him. He knew this was tough on the ‘psychic’ – but he had to accept that sometimes things took longer than you wanted them to. “Don’t mock police work, Spencer. It’s not like your Spirits,” he spit the word, “are telling you who she is.” Then, feeling the glare from his partner he relented, “We’ll find out her identity as fast as humanly possible.”

O’Hara, for her part, was glad that Lassiter had stood up to Shawn. If he was left to run at his own speed, he’d probably combust. She did her best to give him something to do, “Why don’t you come over here and look at these photos. Or you can watch the feed if you want. See if you can pick her out of the crowd.”

Shawn kept vibrating like a full bottle of Coke with a few Mentos inside, but he nodded, sat down and did his best to concentrate on the photos.

That lasted about thirty seconds.

“Here are two pictures where she’s visible: two blurry photos of her from the side. That helps.”

Juliet looked at him, exasperated. What was she going to do with him?

“Where’s the Rollins file?”

She frowned, “Shawn – you’ve been over that a hundred times- You wrote much of-”

“You know what? Never mind.” He interrupted, “I’m gonna go… commune with the spirits.” And he spun on his heel and disappeared.

Juliet sighed. Lassiter frowned.

Shawn didn’t go far. In fact he went outside the office, plopped down in Lassie’s seat, and threw his feet up on the desk – ‘cause – if you can’t annoy your favorite head detective – just a little – what can you do?

He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers into his temples. He didn’t need the actual file – it was all in his head. What he needed, desperately, was another connection. Something that would explain why a sad looking woman would be involved with Rollins and want him and Gus out of the way. ‘Then go over it again! And again if you have to’ Henry’s voice echoed in his head. So he did.

He was unaware that time had passed. But his eyes popped open when Lassie slapped his feet off the desk and pulled his suit coat from behind Shawn’s back. 

“Face recognition popped. We got a name and address: a Karen Miller – She’s renting a house in Lower State. Let’s go.”

Shawn jumped to his feet, tried to return Juliet’s small smile of encouragement and followed the pair out to Lassie’s car. 

oO0Oo

On the way there, Lassiter was somewhat relieved: For once, Spencer was not driving him crazy with his inane babble. In fact, he was silent. Odd. The Head Detective glanced in the mirror. The ‘psychic’ was staring out the window. He knew Spencer was worried about his friend, they all were, but he seemed nearly catatonic. “We’re gonna get him back, Spencer,” he murmured. O’Hara shot him a look of surprise and gratefulness.

Shawn’s only response was to sit back, close his eyes and put both hands, once again, to his temples. He, too, was grateful for Lassie’s comment, as out of character as it was. But he had something more important to do:

There was something about the Rollins file that was bugging him. ‘You always see more than you think you do.’ He’d been over the file so many times… But there was something... Something that wasn’t fitting – like a puzzle piece that looked like it should fit perfectly, but didn’t quite… 

As every puzzler (that would be his dad, not him) knows – no matter how close it seems, if the piece doesn’t fit, you put it down and look for the one that does. ‘Then go back to the beginning and do it again’ Apparently, Henry was not going to shut up. So he went back over everything yet again.

O’Hara turned from looking over her shoulder at Shawn and spoke to her partner, “Was there anything about Ms. Miller in the file? Anything to connect her to Rollins or to Psych?” She already knew that there wasn’t, but maybe talking it out with Lassiter would give them some ideas.

Her partner just scowled. “Nothing. Rollins had a girlfriend, but she checks out. Garth’s- Stubbins’” he corrected himself, inserting Garth’s real name, “girlfriend, Maureen, was devastated when he died, but she’s got an alibi. Neither man had any other known contacts.”

O’Hara picked up the thread, “Neither man had any family – except Rollins did have a brother. The file said they hadn’t seen each other since their parents divorced almost 20 years ago. Rollins grew up with the dad here in California, but the brother went to live with their grandparents in Canada.”

Lassiter shook his head, “Something about the mom being a crack head.”

Juliet nodded as she looked out at the depressed neighborhood they had entered. It was a part of Santa Barbara she hadn’t seen much of, in spite of her chosen occupation. Most of the lawns were un-mowed and littered with weeds and old furniture or cars. Many of the houses had peeling paint or missing shingles “It’s sad, the families that some kids have to grow up in.”

“Not all of them turn into murderers,” Lassiter commented, foregoing any sight-seeing beyond his usual detective’s scrutiny, “The brother’s still in Canada?”

His partner shrugged, “As far as the border cops can tell, no one by that name has entered the country… What about cell mates – prison mates? Did either man make any friends?”

“They shared a cell – that’s where they cooked up the armored truck scam. Besides that – we have no real way of knowing. They had no known associates in Lompoc, but it’s possible.”

She nodded as they pulled up in front of a small house. The blinds in one window hung with crooked gaps. The window on the other side of the peeling front door was empty and dark, giving the impression that the house was treating them to a one-eyed glare. “Hopefully Ms. Miller will be able to shed some light on all of this.”

Lassiter drew his weapon and checked it, “Be careful, O’Hara. And keep an eye on Spencer – we don’t know what we’re going to find here.”

Juliet just pursed her lips. Maybe this was nothing – maybe there was no connection. Or maybe a killer was in that house. Maybe even Gus…

And then her partner’s words hit her. Lassiter had already accepted an idea that was only now sinking in for her: they might already be too late.

She glanced again at Shawn, wondering if he had grasped it. But of course he had.

Lassiter killed the ignition.

The partners exchanged looks when Shawn didn’t react, or even open his eyes.

“Shawn?” Juliet prompted gently.

“What? Oh. Are we here already? Let’s go!” he hopped out of the car and bounded up the walk ahead of them. 

Rolling his eyes and growling, Lassiter got out of the car after him, “Spencer!”

Shawn didn’t even glance back. He was about half way up the walk when the house exploded.

TBC…


	4. Things Fall into Place

oO0Oo  
Things Fall into Place  
oO0Oo

The force of the blast threw Shawn back several feet. 

Lassiter and Juliet were still near the car. Both ducked and avoided most of the shrapnel.

Even before the debris quit flying, Lassiter was calling 911. Juliet ran to Shawn’s side. He was unconscious, and every bit of exposed skin showed small cuts, scratches and newly-forming bruises. 

“Shawn!” There was one deeper slice on his upper arm that was bleeding fairly heavily. And Juliet cringed when she saw a splinter of wood, about the size of a pencil embedded in his side, just below the rib cage.

She checked his pulse, which thankfully, was strong and steady. “Shawn, can you hear me?” Carefully avoiding his side, her hands quickly and gently examined him. She found a lump already growing on the back of his head where it had come in contact with the cement walk. At least it wasn’t bleeding. She pulled off her jacket and placed it under his head, trying not to move his neck any more than necessary, just in case.

He began to stir. His eyes opened and he blinked at her. “Jules?” he groaned.

“Easy, Shawn,” She cautioned, but he was determined to sit up, so she helped him. 

He didn’t make it all the way, but he did manage to lean on his uninjured arm. Then together they looked at the flames eating what was left of the house.

“Boom.” He said softly.

She nodded, still out of breath, “Do you think she was in there?” Jules asked him as Lassiter approached and squatted beside them. They just looked at each other. They all knew Karen Miller had been home.

oO0Oo

drip… drip… drip… drip… Shawn was supposed to call the plumber to get that fixed… wait…

Gus dragged open his eyes. Oh yeah. I got kidnapped, stabbed, and left in this dingy old warehouse. And Shawn didn’t even have the decency to be here. It wasn’t worth the effort, supposing where Shawn might be, - or not worth the worry. Okay, if Gus were honest with himself, which he usually strove to be, it wasn’t worth the panic that was likely to ensue as soon as he considered the possibilities.

He did his best to stay angry with Shawn. It was better than the alternative.

There were only two possible reasons for his best friend’s absence. One: Shawn was on his way here to rescue him. Two: he wasn’t. And Gus definitely didn’t want to think about that.

He really wished he could at least sit up.

Suddenly a brilliant light flashed across his vision and he realized that a door across the warehouse had opened. The sunlight dimmed briefly as someone walked in. It disappeared once the door closed again, leaving Gus in the gloom once more only with spots dancing in his vision.

“Shawn?” Gus inquired doubtfully.

Then the man got close enough to be seen. Of course it was the guy with the knife from this morning. 

Now that Gus had a chance to actually look at him, he noticed a few things. First of all, the guy looked familiar. Not in an ‘I’ve-seen-you-before’ kind of way – Gus was certain he’d never seen the guy before that morning, but he still looked familiar somehow. Second he was wearing a shirt with some kind of logo on it. He squinted, ‘B. Schreiner.’ Hmmm. He didn’t know the name. Other than those two notables, he had a pretty typical bad-guy look: greasy hair, longish nose, general creepiness…

“Mmmm,” Creepy Guy responded thoughtfully, “No – Spencer was supposed to be at your stupid detective agency. But all I got was you. And I gotta say, you’ve been more trouble than you’re worth.”

Hands roughly grabbed him under the arms, pulled him into a sitting position and dragged him to the wall.

The process was incredibly painful and Gus gritted his teeth so hard he thought they would break. He wished he could pass out again. He was sure he would when the guy let go and he fell back, cracking his head against the wall. But at least he was sitting up.

But his tormentor slapped him lightly on the cheeks, “You know – this,” and he nudged Gus in the thigh with his foot – Gus moaned and tried to squirm away, but blood loss had made him too weak, “is all your fault.” 

How could this guy be reprimanding him?

“Well,” he relented, “Technically, I guess it’s more Mr. Spencer’s fault since he was supposed to be there.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Gus demanded.

The man, whom Gus was rapidly becoming convinced was crazy, raised his eyebrows, “I’ll tell you. See, you wouldn’t be in any pain right now if the psychic had been there. You’d be dead.” Then he chuckled at Gus’s reaction, “The plan was: Mr. Spencer was supposed to watch you die before I killed him. That was the plan. I mean, it’s his fault my brother’s dead.”

Instantly, Gus realized why he looked familiar – he was Rollins’ brother. He had to be. But he was still talking. 

“…So I thought it fitting that he lose his “brother”” air quotes, of course, “before I killed him. But now? Now it’s all wrecked. He was going to go to Karen’s house. I couldn’t let him do that so I had to blow him up instead.”

Gus’s eyes widened at the words. ‘Had to blow him up?’ Past tense? Could he really mean…?

“But he screwed that up too! Your buddy is not very cooperative.” He turned away and began to pace.

The relief at knowing Shawn wasn’t dead had loosened his tongue a bit, “I heard that…”

The guy smiled, “He doesn’t cooperate with you, either huh? Well... He should be here soon. And then everything will finally go as planned. Although, at this point I no longer really care who dies first. I mean, he testified, but you’re just as much a part of this as he is. Either he watches you die, or you get to watch him. It makes no difference to me.”

“You’re crazy.” Gus commented, not knowing what else to say. 

The comment got him back-handed across the face, and yet another trip to darkness.

oO0Oo

Shawn groaned as if just now becoming aware that the explosion had not left him unscathed. He lay back onto the cement walk and stared at the sky, swallowing the pain that had blossomed in his side.

Lassiter had grabbed the first aid kit from the trunk on his way over, and Juliet took it from him and used it to begin bandaging Shawn’s injuries as the sirens screamed up the street.

Shawn didn’t feel what she was doing. 

He didn’t know if it was his probable concussion or just the simple fact of the explosion itself, but suddenly all the random pieces that had been floating around in his head had fallen into place with a resounding snap.

It didn’t register either, when the paramedics took over, although he did notice when they pulled the splinter from his side. That was kind of hard to miss.

It was all he could do not to bat their hands away. He knew he needed to let them do their work so that he could do his. 

If only they would go faster.

Finally he couldn’t take it: Couldn’t wait anymore. He shook them off and struggled to his feet. Two Lassiters roughly grabbed his arm when he swayed unsteadily. But they merged into one when he gave his head a shake. 

None of it mattered now that he knew. 

None of it mattered when he knew where Gus was. 

None of it mattered when he had a chance…

He had a real chance to save his friend.

A part of him distantly heard the protests, ‘we need you to come to the hospital’ - ‘that needs stitches’ - ‘Spencer- don’t be an idiot’ - ‘Shawn – can you hear me?’ - But most of him was focused on Gus. Barely remembering to put his fingers to his head, he turned to the detectives, “I know. I know who did this! I know where Gus is!” 

And before anyone could say anything to that, he was gone. He ran to Lassiter’s car, one arm tight around his middle. He jumped in and sped away before either detective reacted.

oO0Oo

Once Lassiter got his jaw working again, he began shouting instructions. The most important one had a lot to do with the GPS on his car. Wherever Spencer was going, he, O’Hara, and a lot of their friends in blue, were going to be right behind him. And the EMTs might as well follow along too. They were going to get a chance to finish what they’d started if he had anything to say about it.

Juliet pulled out her phone and called Henry. After everything that had happened over the past weeks, he deserved to be in the loop. Plus he would probably kill her if she didn’t.

As the firefighters hosed down the remains of the house, and the MEs loaded what was left of Karen Miller into their van, the pair commandeered the nearest cruiser and took off after Shawn, Juliet still arguing with Henry on the phone.

They were hoping beyond hope, that at the end of this road they would finally find both members of Psych healthy and whole… ish.

oO0Oo

The fourth time Gus woke up the man was still pacing. At some time during Gus’s little nap, he had acquired some weapons. He held a knife in one hand and he was absently slapping it against his thigh as he walked and a three foot piece of pipe in the other. 

On his next turn, he realized Gus was watching him. He approached quickly, bent and waved the knife in Gus’s face, “Is this guy really psychic?” he demanded.

Gus really wasn’t sure what he should say to that, so he kept his mouth shut.

“I thought this would be easier. I didn’t have to leave a ransom note – I didn’t need to send him ‘proof of life’ reminders.” He tried to give the words air quotes, but it was difficult with his hands full of weapons. “If he’s psychic, he already knows where you are, so why’d he spend all that time at that van? At the police station? Why go to Karen’s house??”

One thing the man said had stuck with Gus: the van. He had actually forgotten about it. Not surprising. Who wants to remember the place where you were stabbed and bled all over the floor? He nearly passed out just thinking about all that blood.

Instead he decided to get mad at Shawn again. It was his fault. 

Usually Gus was the level headed one; the one who listened and thought things through before acting. Shawn was the one who took crazy chances that shouldn’t work. Shawn was the impulsive one. But Shawn hadn’t been there when Gus saw an opening and so he had done what Shawn would’ve: he’d made a break for it. 

Stupid.

All it got him was a knife through his thigh.

But the guy was still talking. 

He should give this guy a name: Sharpie Rollins? Rollins McKnifey? Then Gus shook his head. He must be getting a little woozy from the blood loss…

“…I didn’t want to kill Karen. I told her to stay in Kelowna. Wait for me…” Then he swore angrily and strode over to stare out the window. But she didn’t listen. She never listened. Always wanted to think she was the one in charge. And now? Now she’s dead. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. But I know she would have betrayed me to the psychic, and I couldn’t let that happen. They both should have died in that explosion!!” he shouted at Gus. Then he turned away and continued to himself, “I still don’t know why it went off before it should have.”

Gus watched him, hoping suddenly that Shawn wasn’t coming. This guy was too crazy – too dangerous. Either that or he hoped Shawn had gone off script and planned an elaborate rescue with the full cooperation of the SBPD. That wasn’t too likely, though. Far more likely was that Shawn would show up alone with no real plan other than to wing it and he was going to get himself, and Gus, killed. 

All things considered, it was probably better if Shawn didn’t show. 

oO0Oo

Shawn had flipped on the lights and siren without any of the joy it should have given him. “I’m on my way, buddy.” He growled to himself. Why had it taken him so long?! He should have known!! 

He should have known the moment he saw the van. 

If he were truly honest with himself he should have known from the moment the first threat had arrived. 

If Gus was…

He swallowed.

If Gus wasn’t okay, he wouldn’t be okay: he would never forgive himself – could never live with himself.

When he was within a mile he turned off the siren. When he was a block away he turned off the lights. 

He parked behind a neighboring building and crept to where he could see the warehouse. The warehouse whose address and picture had been in the file in Buzz’s hands. He had finally made the connection between the missing demolition items and the missing Gus. He was certain the house had blown up because three sticks of dynamite had been attached – probably to the water heater. The uniform gave the guy – Rollins’ brother Martin, the one with the former job in demolition – access to the site. And the van – well that was obvious. 

He could see it all clearly… finally.

He quickly catalogued all the visible entrances. It would be almost impossible to get in unseen. The bright sunshine outside and the certain gloom within would announce his arrival quite clearly. He had to find an opening not visible to the majority of the inside.

He climbed through a hole in the temporary fencing and went for the fire escape, ignoring all the warning signs.

oO0Oo

When Henry heard his phone, he worried. Every time his phone rang since Shawn had been shot, he’d worried. Gus’s call had been bad enough. When he saw who was calling, he pretty much assumed the worst. “What happened?”

“Shawn’s okay…um… ish” Were the first words out of Juliet’s mouth. She had meant to be reassuring and had failed rather miserably. Both she and Lassiter had cringed at that.

“You want to explain that ‘ish’ part?” Henry started breathing again. ‘Shawn’s okay’ was good. ‘-ish’ not so much. 

Juliet tried to recover, “We found the woman Shawn saw in his vision. Her name is Karen Miller, and we got an address here in Santa Barbara. When we went to question her… her house exploded. Shawn was hit by some of the debris, but he’s okay. Unfortunately, she didn’t make it.”

“He what? How bad was he hurt? How’s his shoulder? Wait. Did you say the house exploded?”

Juliet breathed a sigh of relief as she answered “Yes. Then Shawn said he knew where Gus was so he left in Lassiter’s cruiser. We’re following its GPS now.”

As much as Henry wanted to know more about Shawn being hurt yet again - the fact that he was capable of stealing an official police vehicle was reassuring. But there was something else the junior detective had said… “Wait a minute – explosives… I’ve been going back over the Rollins file ever since this morning and there was something about demolition. Just a sec.” And the line went quiet for a moment as Henry shuffled through the papers on the kitchen table. What he was looking for was in fine print towards the back of the file so it took him a while to find it, “Rollins’ brother, Martin had a job in demolition before he was fired for not following safety protocols. That was almost two years ago. You don’t suppose...”

“We looked into the brother – he hasn’t been in the country in years…”

“…according to border patrol.” He pointed out, knowing that would be their only source of information. “I’d say there’s a good chance he managed to cross the border without their knowing. The Canadian border isn’t exactly secure you know. Are there any buildings in the area scheduled for demolition?”

Lassiter, who had been holding his own phone conversation, interrupted, “We got a hit on the GPS. Spencer parked near an old warehouse scheduled for demolition this weekend. It’s already wired. Just needs to be hooked up to the detonators.”

The two partners looked at each other. One exploding building a day was quite enough thank-you very much. Juliet turned back to her phone, “You get that Henry?”

“Got it. Give me the address, I’ll meet you there.” 

oO0Oo   
TBC…


	5. Things Fall Apart

oO0Oo   
Things Fall Apart  
oO0Oo

Suddenly, and for reasons unknown to Gus, ‘Rollins 2.0’ got agitated. He decided this was not a good sign, and he should probably just pass out now, but he was too curious to see what came next.

The crazy was suddenly kneeling next to him, excitedly whispering, “He’s here! He’s finally here! I knew it!” 

He got up and stepped out of view, briefly. When he returned he said, “The stage is set. If there’s one thing I learned from demolition – it’s caution! Have back-ups and double check everything.” He chuckled again – which was really creeping Gus out. “That’s why I didn’t hook ‘em up to a detonator. I used a timer!! This building is set to blow. And it’s going to blow even if nothing else goes right today.” The thought obviously gave him a great deal of pleasure.

His manic grin faded a bit as he regarded Gus, “I should have some duct tape for your mouth.” He quickly looked around, but seeing none, he waved the knife at Gus’s nose, “Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll just kill   
you now. You don’t need to be alive anymore now that he’s here.”

Gus just nodded frantically, eyes wide. He really hoped Shawn knew what he was getting into.

‘Sharpie’ nodded at him and backed away to blend into the darkness.  
Gus searched everywhere for some sign of his friend, and suddenly realized something he hadn’t seen before: There was duct tape. A lot of it. Sticks of dynamite were neatly taped to every pillar in sight. Heavy duty wires led between them. This building was set to blow. He swallowed. How had he not seen that before?

Where was Shawn?

oO0Oo

Shawn had just come in through a window on the second floor via the fire escape. He had opened it as little as possible and, shoulder and side screaming at him, he managed to crawl through, biting his tongue to keep from crying out and giving himself away. He was relieved to find himself in a small, empty room, probably somebody’s office once upon a time. The chances that anyone had seen him enter were anorexic. 

Now all he had to do was find Gus and get out while avoiding the bad guy all together. (while avoiding the bad guy) he repeated to himself and grinned. He opened the door which, thankfully, made barely a squeak.

Once in the hall, he paused and closed his eyes briefly while searched the file in Buzz’s hands for a blueprint. Rollins’ brother would know this building intimately while he, on the other hand, stumbled around blindly. There had been the address, and a photo of the exterior, but nothing about the inside. A blueprint would’ve helped, but there hadn’t been one; at least, not on the pages he had seen.

It didn’t change anything though. He still needed to get Gus and get out!

He crept down the hall in the dim lighting and found the stairs to the lower level. Coming down them into the darkness of the big room, he still saw no sign of Gus, but he didn’t see Martin either. Maybe he had been quick enough and the killer was still on his way back from Miller’s house.

Or maybe not. 

As he stole along the wall, his keen eyes had picked something out of the darkness: numbers: glowing, changing numbers. He took a deep breath and blew it out in a silent whistle. As if things weren’t urgent enough! Not only was the building wired to blow - The explosives were on a timer. And there wasn’t a ton of time left.

He didn’t have time to think about it though because he had come to the end of the wall. He peeked carefully around the edge…

oO0Oo

Head Detective Lassiter parked the black and white behind his own car where Spencer had left it. He and O’Hara jumped from the cruiser but he insisted that she stay behind and orchestrate all the responders – much to her dismay.

There were going to be a ton of police, the bomb squad, the official people from the demolition company, and the EMTs and someone had to tell them all what was going on, he explained.

Plus, there would soon be a father, sick with worry for his son. “They’ll need you.” he’d told her as he pulled his weapon and stole up the street.

“Carlton,” she called after him. “Be careful!”

He nodded once and was gone.

oO0Oo

Shawn peeked around the corner – instantly taking in everything within sight. But only one sight meant anything to him. 

All the blood drained from Shawn’s head in utter relief as he saw Gus.

He was hurt, hands tied, but alive and aware. In fact, Gus had seen him, too, and was frantically shaking his head.

All the blood, plus a huge dose of adrenaline, shot back into his head as he simultaneously realized what Gus was doing and caught a glimpse of a length of pipe heading for the side of his skull.

“Shawn!” Gus screamed.

He ducked.

Not quite enough: the pipe still caught him, but it was a glancing instead of a skull-crushing blow. He staggered, feet desperately trying to get back under him as his body tried to twist away. 

The pipe came again and landed this time, hitting his barely bandaged side. He cried out and dropped, but managed to turn it into a roll, desperate to get some distance between himself and the man intent on beating him to death.

“Dude, start talking. Stall him until everybody gets here.” Shawn heard Gus’s voice clearly in his head, and it sounded like a really good idea, so he tried, “Your brother’s death is not our fault!” He yelled.

Martin only shouted something unintelligible and angry and lifted the pipe above his head to bring it down as hard as he could. Shawn barely rolled away in time and the pipe struck the floor with a resounding clang and a shower of sparks

He rolled up against a railing and grabbed it to pull himself up thinking ‘Railing= Stairs. Basement? If I can get him to stand at the top of the stairs…’ But he shouted, trying a slightly different tactic, “Dude! Your brother was really smart! He planned that whole robbery…?”

Martin only roared and swung the pipe again. This time he put all his weight behind it and Shawn had no time to dodge. He connected with Shawn’s thigh. Even Gus heard the sickening, muffled crack from across the room. Shawn fell with a strangled scream, grabbing at the pain with both hands.

Gus would have thrown up – but he was frozen in the fear that he was about to watch his best friend die.

“That’s what it felt like!” Martin shouted while pausing his attack, panting with the exertion, “You put my brother in prison. You got him beaten so badly he died! And now that’s what you’re going to feel. Head bashed” he listed off, pointing at Shawn’s injuries with the pipe, “ribs broken, leg broken…” Rollins was furious now – blind in his rage.

Shawn was trying desperately to crawl away, dragging his leg, toward the railing. If he could still lead him over to the stairs… 

“Let’s…” Shawn gasped desperately, “Let’s talk about this for… for a minute, okay? – I mean – you probably want me to lie here and suffer for a bit don’t ya?”

Martin showed no sign of having heard. 

“At least tell me about your plan!!”

Martin had gone to impressive lengths to be here, beating a psychic to death, and it filled his mind with a blind fury. Nothing Shawn said was going to register. “Did you know they had a shiv, too?!!” 

Actually, Shawn did know that: the stabbing had ultimately been the cause of death, but that knowledge didn’t help him now – quite the contrary. He kept crawling.

It took little effort for Martin to catch up, and he knelt next to Shawn; one knee on the floor, one pressing on his broken femur. 

Shawn screamed.

Now that he had his prey immobilized, he raised the knife high above his head, ready to plunge it into Shawn’s chest.

Shawn threw up his hands to try to block the thrust, and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, there were two loud noises. Was the dynamite beginning to blow? Shawn’s eyes popped open, and Martin, knife still poised, looked very surprised. 

Shawn had half a second to study his expression, and then the killer fell forward, landing on top of his intended victim as the knife clattered away.

Shawn could hear voices. Someone was shouting, but all he could think was ‘get off, get off, someone get this big, smelly guy with the knife OFF OF ME!’

Someone did.

Martin Rollins’ dead body rolled away and Lassie appeared. “Let’s get you out of here, Spencer. EMTs are on their way… again.”

The detective didn’t understand why Shawn was still extremely agitated. He was wheezing something about the building exploding…?

“The guy’s dead! I shot him twice, point blank. He’s not going to push the button or the trigger or whatever-“

“TIMER!” Shawn squeaked out. “’ts on a timer, you idiot. Go!”

Lassiter scowled and grabbed his arms to pull him into a fireman’s carry and get them out of there, but Shawn pushed his hands away.

He understood when Spencer whispered, “Gus. Get Gus out. Please...”

He understood that the ‘psychic’ wasn’t at all sure there was enough time to get them both out now that neither one of them could move under their own power.

“Please…” Shawn repeated, “I’ll be right behind you.” 

Lassiter had a choice to make.

But he didn’t, not really. Not when he thought about everything that had happened that day – everything that Spencer had gone through to get Gus back. No. There wasn’t really a choice to be made. He nodded once, and hurried over to Gus.

Gus had shouted himself hoarse through the entire fight and didn’t stop shouting now as he realized what was going on; what Lassiter was doing. He was leaving Shawn! Don’t leave him! “Don’t leave Shawn!!” Gus shouted.

But Lassiter ignored him, “Go limp, Guster. Let me do the work. It’ll go faster and I can get back for Spencer.”

He didn’t wait for Gus to respond. Just scooped him up and headed out the nearest door. Once outside, he ran. He knew the temporary fencing was the official safe line, but he intended to cheat a bit, and laid Gus behind some construction materials just short of the fence.

“I’m okay. Hurry,” was on Gus’s lips, but he wasn’t really. He was terribly dizzy and weak, his thigh was on fire, every part of his body ached, and spots were dancing around the edges of his vision after the crazy ride Lassiter had just given him. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Shawn was trapped in a building about to cave in on itself, and Lassiter was his only chance. 

But the detective was already gone. 

Lassiter was running full speed toward the warehouse when he heard the first rumble. Then there was no more time to think. He dove beneath a heavy, demolition company truck and prayed there would be enough cover.

It started with a series of loud bangs from inside the warehouse as the pillars blew, and then it all went. 

The world turned into a mass of noise and flying pieces of concrete, and the sky went dark from the rising dust.

oO0Oo

Shawn watched Lassie carry Gus out into the sunshine. He lay back on the floor and relaxed for the first time since he’d walked into the office that morning. It was an ‘ahhhhh’ moment, and he intended to enjoy it. 

Briefly.

He knew Lassie didn’t have time to come back for him, so he needed to get himself out of there. He’d heard that a broken femur was the most painful injury known to man. Well, he was about to test that theory.

He grabbed a nearby piece of wood, thankful the demo company hadn’t yet finished clearing out the interior. Between that and the railing; he was able to painfully pull himself up onto his good leg. Okay – not the worst pain ever, yet. Then he realized that if he was going to use his ‘crutch,’ he was going to have to put it under the shoulder with the bullet hole in it.

Oh joy.

He’d have time to discuss his new personal best with the pain judges later. Right now it was time to get out of here. If his internal clock was correct, and, considering his concussion, it probably wasn’t, he had only seconds to get out the door and find some kind of shelter. Time to go.

He made it to the door – Adrenaline is a magical thing, he decided. He even made it out into the sunshine. Then he heard the first pillar blow. It would be followed by its cousins in rapid succession as the beautiful ballet that was a planned and controlled implosion began.

He’d wanted to see one in real life. He hadn’t wanted to see one quite this close up.

In the 2.5 seconds before the building actually began to fall, he scanned his surroundings for something – anything that he could possibly use for protection. He made his choice and began to move. 

But then there was nothing but dust and noise and light and pain and darkness.

oO0Oo

After Lassiter had left, the street had quickly filled with vehicles and confusion. But the people involved were so well trained that it wasn’t long before everyone was prepared. They were prepared for a simple arrest, a full scale demolition followed by search and rescue, and everything in between.

Somewhere in there, Henry showed up demanding answers. Juliet, and Chief Vick, who had also arrived and was taking charge, had few to give him.

Henry and Juliet walked cautiously up to the fencing, unsure of what effect their presence might have if they were seen. Juliet watched him out of the corner of her eye. He had seemed slightly different ever since they’d rescued Shawn from Rollins. He was still just as intense – perhaps more so, but he was quieter; more tightly controlled. And whenever Shawn was around he watched him as if he could shatter at any moment. He still spoke to his son as if he was indestructible, but his eyes and the set of his shoulders told a different story.

She knew Shawn had noticed it as well. He chafed under the extra scrutiny and sometimes sent puzzled glances toward his father when he thought no one was looking.

Their presence near the fence didn’t seem to have any effect. In fact, moments after they made the fence line, they heard two gunshots in rapid succession. Henry started forward, but Juliet laid a gentle hand on his arm, “Please,” was all she said. They both knew that if he decided that he was going in after his son there was no way anyone could stop him. And she really didn’t want to try. 

He grimaced as if in pain, and Juliet suspected he was. She wasn’t a parent, but she knew well how the elder Spencer felt about the younger one. Thankfully, he stayed where he was for the moment. 

About a minute later, they were glad he had stayed as the building suddenly began to fall. 

At least, Juliet was glad. 

If Shawn was in there… Henry would just as soon have been in there with him.

oO0Oo  
TBC…


	6. Laughing is Always a Good Idea

oO0Oo   
Laughing is Always a Good Idea   
oO0Oo

“Spencer!” Lassiter shouted when he had stopped coughing enough to do so, “SPENCER!!”

The heavy-duty truck had protected him from the worst of the debris. He had a few more cuts and scrapes to add to those sustained when the house blew, but nothing that would require more than a few stitches. He got out from underneath it and continued his trip towards the building.

Everything looked different. It was almost like an alien planet. Everything was covered with the same grey/brown dust so it was hard to recognize anything. He had emerged into a completely monochromatic world. Plus the air was still full of thick, choking dust and he could only see a few feet in any direction. Holding his handkerchief to his face, he continued to look for Spencer. That idiot had better have made it out; or made it somewhere safe. He couldn’t see a thing, and he realized it would be a while before the dust settled.

He pulled out his phone. Once he had wiped enough dust off the screen to see, he dialed his partner, “O’Hara!”

“Carlton? Are you okay? Did you find Gus? Where’s Shawn?”

Henry stood next to her listening, and Juliet realized he had almost the same way of ‘vibrating’ with desperate impatience that his son did – his was just more subtle.

“What?!?” Lassiter shouted, and then realized just how badly his ears were ringing. Maybe a phone conversation hadn’t been his best idea. But O’Hara patiently repeated her question. “Yeah, Guster was here. He’s hurt but he’s alive. I left him behind the warehouse near the fence line. Send the EMTs around the long way-” and then he had to pause while he coughed vehemently.

“What about Shawn?” Henry prompted in O’Hara’s ear. It was all he could do not to shake her – or at least grab the phone away.

“Carlton!” Juliet was shouting now, “What about Shawn?” She didn’t notice it, but several heads turned at her shout. There were a lot of people there who cared about the fates of these men.

“What?”

“Shawn!?!”

“No. I couldn’t- He couldn’t- I’m sorry, I don’t know.” He realized how lame that sounded, and he was absolutely certain that Henry was listening, “I’m sorry.”

Henry pulled out his own phone and tried calling Shawn. It went straight to voicemail.

“There could be a lot of reasons…” Juliet trailed off.

“How soon can we go in there?” Henry brusquely asked one of the demo guys, but he didn’t wait for the answer.

Before Juliet could protest, (not that she would’ve anyway) Henry was through the fence and disappearing into the cloud of dust. She saw him pull out his handkerchief and tie it over his mouth cowboy style. She watched him for a moment, her heart breaking for what he must be going through. To her, Shawn was a good friend – maybe even more than a good friend. She feared for his safety – for his life. But Henry was his _father_.

Behind her, Jules could hear the firemen pulling on their proper gas masks and preparing to do search and rescue. She gazed after Henry worriedly for one more second before jogging over to the nearest ambulance and directing the people there to the back of the warehouse – to Gus. As she did so, it occurred to her that ‘around back’ was where they had the best chance of finding Shawn as well. She asked, and was allowed to accompany the EMTs.

Once there, she jumped out of the ambulance and began shouting for Gus. Thankfully, it didn’t take long to find him, propped up against some stacked boxes. He appeared to be unconscious. “Gus? Gus!” Then she was on her knees next to him, shouting for the EMTs to get there quickly, because Gus didn’t look good at all.

Gus opened his eyes at her shout and she shouldn’t have been surprised when Gus had only one thing on his mind, and it wasn’t his injuries, “Where’s Shawn?”

“Gus, we need to get you to the hospital. Your leg…”

“Shawn was hurt and Lassie carried me out here. I told him to go back-”

“I know, Gus, he told me.”

“You talked to Shawn - or Lassiter? Then where’s Shawn?”

Juliet had tried to smile then and gotten out of the way as the EMTs arrived and went to work.

“Where’s Shawn?” He asked again.

She had no answer for him.

The EMTs loaded Gus onto a gurney, and Juliet watched with concern until the ambulance pulled away. Then she turned, grimly squared her shoulders and went to look for Shawn.

oO0Oo

Henry hadn’t left Juliet’s side out of eagerness to find Shawn. He’d left because he doubted he would. Not alive. Not this time.

Yes, he knew there was a chance. There was a chance that Shawn had somehow found a way out of the building before it fell. But with everything that had happened over the last couple weeks, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that Shawn was living on borrowed time.

He wouldn’t allow himself to believe there was a chance. Believing it and then finding out he was wrong would be too cruel.

He _had_ believed he would find Shawn when he’d been shot.

_“Mr. Spencer?”_

_Gus had called him, and he’d known Gus for too many years not to know that tone. That tone of voice that was reserved for one specific occasion: Shawn was in real trouble or worse. He’d been waiting for that tone for too long – and yet not long enough – not nearly long enough. He had swallowed and waited._

_“I think…” Gus had stuttered, the fear plain in his voice, “I think Shawn’s been shot, but we don’t know where he is and we can’t find him. I think they have him.”_

_“Who?” Henry had spit._

_“We don’t know,” Gus had finished lamely._

But he had believed that day. Nothing would have stopped him from reaching Shawn’s side. Nothing. And he _had_ found him. Then he’d watched his son save the day; watched him, wounded and bleeding, leap onto a moving car and heroically stop the bad guy, nearly sacrificing himself in the process. And he’d been so completely proud – frantic and worried and angry – but _proud_.

When it was all over, he’d gotten his hands on Shawn and found out just how badly he’d been hurt; how much blood he’d lost...

After that had come the days in the hospital, sitting by a bedside waiting to see how he responded to treatment. Scolding him furiously because that was his default position. Watching him flirt with the nurses. Watching him take none of it seriously. And YES! He knew - better than anyone - he _knew_ that this was how Shawn coped and he tried to give him that. He’d really tried, but it wasn’t how Henry coped. It just wasn’t.

How does any father cope with the near death of his son? He wasn’t sure he knew.

Then, despite his protests, Shawn had been forced to take the stand long before he was physically or emotionally prepared to do so. And Henry had spent those days in the courthouse listening to what had _really_ happened to his son. Heard for the first time how Shawn had watched as he and Lassiter had walked away. What that must have felt like – all while being choked. It was all so much worse than he’d imagined. What Shawn had endured… There was no way his son should be alive after that, but he was.

And then the threats had come. Shawn had laughed and made a joke, and it was even funny. He’d dismissed them.

Henry hadn’t. How could he?

And then Gus had disappeared in a pool of blood.

And now this.

They’d heard gunshots. Lassiter had said, ‘he couldn’t.’ Couldn’t what? Couldn’t walk? Couldn’t get out? What? He couldn’t allow himself to hope. Not anymore. So he had tied on his handkerchief and walked into the dust where no one would be surprised by red eyes and tears.

oO0Oo

The cloud of dust was slowly beginning to settle. Lassiter had been shouting Spencer’s name for too long. He stopped. There wasn’t really any point. He’d seen the shape Shawn had been in. There was no way he’d been able to get himself out of there in the time left to him, not in his condition.

He slowly approached the part of the building where he figured they must have been. It was hard to tell since there was no longer any building. There was just a dusty pile of concrete, metal, glass and rebar. Everything had moved, and there was no sign of Spencer. And then things got monumentally worse. A figure approached through the dust, and his keenly honed detective skills recognized it immediately. It was Henry. How did he tell him? What could he say? ‘Sorry I couldn’t get back in time to rescue your only son?’ ‘Sorry I left Shawn to die?’

Henry approached. His walk, the set of his shoulders was one of utter despair. He already knew.

He came up to where Lassiter was standing and simply asked, “Where?”

Henry wanted to know where to start searching for Shawn’s body.

He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell him to keep looking, there was still hope. But he’d been shouting Spencer’s name and there’d been no response. He’d seen no sign that he’d made it out of the building. He wanted… He wanted to say he was sorry.

But Henry just looked at him expectantly.

Lassiter only gestured and the two men began to pick their way through the debris; attempting one of the most horrific tasks known to man.

oO0Oo

When light, dim due to the dust; and consciousness, fuzzy due to the head wounds, returned, all Shawn could see was grey. All he could hear was an incredibly loud ringing. He blinked at the dust and began to cough.

That was so weird: He was painfully coughing out his socks, but he couldn’t hear it. He could _feel_ it – oh yes – he could feel it in his broken leg, in the wound in his side, in his shoulder, in his back, in the cracked if not broken ribs, in every cut and bruise his body had sprouted in the last 24 hours – but he couldn’t hear it.

Eventually he managed to pull the collar of his t-shirt up over his nose so that, every time he gasped between coughs, he wasn’t pulling in more dust. And by the time his coughing quieted, he realized he could sort of hear it, a little, over the ringing. That was good.

Lying on his side, he twisted his neck and looked behind him at his ‘bomb shelter’ of choice and chuckled. Laughing brought on another round of painful hacking, but coughing didn’t make it less funny. And, at least in Shawn World, laughing was always a good idea – especially when you’d just cheated death.

He’d made it to a dumpster. He’d grabbed the edge of it and, as the building began to crumble, he’d used strength borne of desperation and pulled it down onto its side, the opening pointed away from the building. It was half-full of construction – or actually de-construction debris, but he’d managed to squeeze inside.

Now, looking around at what had once been a rectangular box he had to smile. The amount of concrete and debris that had flown out from the base of the building had pounded the thing into a sort of misshapen bowl. Later, when the dust settled, it would also become apparent that it had been pushed several feet across the ground on its side. Between the explosions, the pummeling and the screech of sliding metal – it was no surprise that he couldn’t hear!

Actually, now that he thought about it, it was impossible that he had grabbed the side of a full sized dumpster and simply tipped it over. Of course, it had helped that most of the cement inside had been piled against the side he’d wanted to fall, unbalancing it, but… Then his eyes widened and he just blinked. It must have been the force of the explosion itself that had been the tipping point. He hadn’t realized, until that moment, just how close he had come to being caught in the devastation. He would have been torn to shreds.

But he hadn’t been. He grinned.

And now, all he had to do was wait for Lassie to come back for him. He had every confidence that the detective had succeeded in getting Gus to a safe place. Shawn was even pretty sure that he had tried to get back in time. But now, being the fine detective he was, he would come and find him in a dumpster. Lassie would probably get a kick out of that. And lying on his side looking out at the grey world, he had a good vantage point to watch for his rescue.

The dumpster had done the impossible. The metal box had accomplished the unlikely feat of keeping him alive. It should get a medal… or a metal? Shawn almost chuckled before he remembered how well that had gone last time.

The dumpster was so strong the exploding warehouse had only managed to create one small hole in it. He frowned at it. That hole, in what used to be the bottom of the dumpster, both fascinated and puzzled him. But it wasn’t exactly the hole itself that was so interesting. It was the long, thin piece of metal, about a half-inch in diameter, sticking through it. He studied that piece because something about it was strange, and somehow, wrong.

The far end of it disappeared out through the hole. - Technically, he supposed it came in through the hole. His eyes followed the length of it until it disappeared behind him, and he couldn’t quite crane his neck far enough to see where the other end went... It didn’t go under him… It didn't go over him... And, oddly it seemed to move when he did... Then he realized where the end of it _was_. This was bad. Really, really bad.

He tried to breathe shallowly, but the pain and the pressure he’d been feeling in his chest since he’d woken up was steadily growing worse. Now he knew why.

Maybe laughing hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He could feel another bout of coughing coming on and he tried to fight it. He really did. But it won in the end, and he was not surprised when he started gasping and coughing up blood. “Lassie?” he managed through blood stained lips. But it was only a whisper, and then he passed out.

oO0Oo

TBC…


	7. I've Fallen adn I Can't Get Up

oO0Oo   
**I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up  
** oO0Oo

Juliet was walking slowly in a zigzag sort of pattern towards the building. Her eyes were scanning for anything that might be Shawn-shaped. She shouted his name occasionally, as she could hear others doing through the cloud of dust. She could occasionally spot the firemen as they methodically searched.

She, too, felt like she had suddenly been transported to another planet; a planet without color. Everything she could see was exactly the same shade of greyish-brown, so she tried to find something that was different; anything that might be Shawn.

She had almost reached the remains of the building, in fact, she was pretty sure she could see Henry and Lassiter climbing around in the debris, when she saw it. She saw something that stood out because it was a different color than everything else. There was a small, dark patch on the ground to her right. She frowned, turned to move towards it and noted that it was wet. Then she realized it was red and she _ran_. She fell to her knees. “Shawn?!”

It was him. His eyelids fluttered when she shouted his name a second time. He nearly held them open. She saw him try to say, “Jules…” but there was no sound, and that was when she saw the blood on his lips.

She leapt to her feet and began shouting for help. Screaming that she had found him, and somebody please, please get here fast.

oO0Oo

Henry and Lassiter paused, listening.

They exchanged disbelieving looks and then moved as fast as they could in the direction of her voice.

The two men arrived at the dumpster at the same time as the firemen.

One of the firemen grabbed his radio and called the EMTs, giving them the location, and telling them to move it.

Juliet was back on her knees, Shawn’s blood soaking through the fabric of her pants. She continued to talk to him, gently brushing dust from his face and hair, although he hadn’t opened his eyes again.

Henry couldn’t tell what the firemen were doing. They didn’t seem to be doing much of anything and he wanted to scream at them to help his son. It wasn’t until one of them got up to walk around the other side of the dumpster that Henry realized: There was a piece of rebar that had been driven through a weak point in the bottom of the dumpster and into Shawn’s back. His son had been impaled.

He closed his eyes, stepped back and sat down hard.

The EMTs arrived and he heard Lassiter telling them he was pretty sure Shawn’s leg was broken. Then Juliet piped in to tell them about the injuries he had received in the previous explosion that, while much less severe, had only been partially treated.

The firemen were still trying to decide what to do with the rebar.

The EMTs solved that one though, because there was no longer any time to be gentle. Shawn had stopped breathing. In one smooth motion, they grabbed him and just pulled him out of there. Once they had him on the gurney, Juliet watched in shock as one woman jabbed a huge needle into Shawn’s chest and pulled back on the plunger. At the same time, her fellow paramedic tilted back Shawn’s lifeless head and shoved a tube down his throat, while yet another was busy with bandages.

It was hard, in that moment, to understand how careful they were being, how professional, or how hard they were working to save Shawn’s life. In that moment, it looked like they were hurting him and she couldn’t understand why he didn’t react to any of it.

And then they were gone.

The firemen dispersed to continue with their work.

Three people were left staring in the direction the EMTs had gone.

Lassiter was the first to recover. He looked down at his partner and noted the pale skin, the shallow breaths, the blood on her hands and clothing, and realized she was in danger of going into shock. He touched her shoulder, and when she looked up at him he took her hand and helped her to her feet. To her surprise, he put an arm around her shoulders, though who was comforting whom at the moment was debatable.

Without speaking, Lassiter gently turned her towards Henry, and she instantly forgot her own distress and went to him. Which had kind of been the point.

Henry was looking at the ground between his knees. Kneeling beside him she spoke softly, “He’s in good hands, Henry. He’s gonna be okay.”

Henry frowned up at her, his eyes hard. He scoffed angrily, “He’s gonna be okay? Are you really gonna tell me that now?”

“Henry,” Juliet’s soft, comforting voice slowly did its work, “Shawn is hurt. But he’s breathing. His heart beat is strong.” Actually she had no idea if that was true, but if the force of her will could make it so, it was. “And we are going to the hospital now. Are you ready?”

Henry didn’t move at all for a full minute.

But Juliet was patient.

Finally, he stood, and the three made their way to their respective vehicles.

oO0Oo

Twenty-four hours later, the agonized waiting had begun.

Karen Vick had just passed Juliet in the hospital hallway. The younger detective was on her way to Gus’s room, having just left Shawn’s. Lassiter, having arrested Gus’s dad, _and_ his mom just over a year ago, was not sure he was forgiven yet, and had gone for coffee instead.

Karen knocked briefly and stepped into Shawn’s room.

It was dim. And her ‘psychic’ consultant was still. His intubation tube, taped in place, made him look fragile and helpless. A blanket covered his legs, but she could see the outline of the elaborate brace he wore after having surgery to insert the hardware necessary to keep the pieces of his femur in place as they healed. His skin was nearly as pale as the bandages he wore.

Henry sat beside the bed, hunched over and unmoving.

“How is he?” She asked, approaching.

Shawn and Gus had both undergone surgery, Shawn twice, and neither one was doing as well as anyone hoped.

“They’re keeping him unconscious so his lungs have time to heal, and he leaves that leg alone. It’s gonna hurt like the dickens if he wakes up.” Karen looked at Henry in concern. His voice held no animation whatsoever, and she had not missed the ‘if.’

He rubbed a tired hand over his face and sat up, knowing she’d heard his slip, “Doc says he’ll be out at least two days. Then we’ll see…”

“I understand. How’s Mr. Guster? I was going to see him next.”

“Leg’s infected.” Henry answered flatly. “High fever. He was delirious when I was there...” He didn’t mention the tossing and turning, the crying out – usually to, or for, Shawn. “His parents are with him.”

He leaned forward and hunched over again, his head in his hands.

“Henry?” She asked tentatively, “Are you ok-”

“Karen.” Henry’s voice held warning. “Don’t”

She raised her eyebrows but didn’t back down, “Don’t what?”

Henry just continued to watch his son’s still face.

The Chief of Police sighed but decided Henry deserved a little latitude. When Shawn’s condition improved, she was certain Henry’s would too.

oO0Oo

Dark was unsettling.

Darkness and quiet had never been among Shawn’s favorite things, and this was the worst he’d experienced in a long time.

‘There is no off position on the genius switch.’

There was no off position on Shawn Spencer’s mind. Even when he was asleep – and sometimes _especially_ when he was asleep, his mind was active. Thoughts, dreams, whatever you wanted to call them, – his mind would have its own party, and he was not necessarily invited.

He’d solved cases – real cases – in his dreams more than once. He’d go to bed having no idea what to do next and his sub-conscious would go crazy with all the information and evidence and chew it all up and spit it all out on him again – and sometimes – although messy - it worked.

 _Often_ it worked.

But not this time.

This time it was just dark.

And quiet.

He was lonely. He didn’t even have anything to think about.

Was he dead?

He didn’t _think_ so.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like it, but he didn’t know how to end it.

oO0Oo

“I hate this.” Juliet O’Hara whispered.

She had only stayed with Gus for a short while. It was hard to be there, as much as she wanted to be.

The staff was aggressively treating his infection, trying to bring down the fever, but Gus wasn’t responding, and his parents’ faces were too worried, too desperate. They had smiled sad smiles for her, and she couldn’t make herself stay.

She met Lassiter in the hallway and gratefully accepted the coffee as they moved towards Shawn’s room.

Entering the dim space she looked at her friend lying so still, “I hate this,” she repeated.

Lassiter just looked at her questioningly. Both men were alive and that was a whole lot better than he had anticipated.

“It’s wrong.”

“O’Hara-”

“He’s not moving. Shawn’s not moving. Even _that-”_ She pointed at the ventilator attached to the tube in Shawn’s throat. “It’s so regular and deep and even. It’s _wrong_. Nothing about Shawn should _ever_ be regular or even or quiet. _Gus_ is even – Gus is steady. But Gus is feverish and saying things that don’t make sense.”

Lassiter saw her point.

“It’s wrong.” She repeated.

“They’re alive, O’Hara.” Lassiter said, at a loss to come up with something that wasn’t cliché.

Henry grunted at that. They had almost forgotten he was there, he had been so still.

“Henry?” She asked.

But he didn’t respond.

It _was_ wrong.

Fifteen minutes later, the partners quietly left to return to their work. Henry never spoke.

oO0Oo

Gus’s dreams, like most dreams conceived during a high fever, were a little unusual. Most of them involved a masked man attacking him in what should have been a safe place: the office. Many of them included a hot knife through his thigh. Sometimes the knife was actually on fire. Sometimes it was a light saber.

Once in a while, Shawn was there to fight alongside him. Occasionally the masked man turned into the Staypuff Marshmallow man. That was pretty funny: watching Shawn fight him only to get covered in goo. Of course, it wasn’t as funny when the Marshmallow man had a length of pipe. Why’d he have that, anyway? For making s’mores?   And infrequently the Marshmallow man had Detective Lassiter’s face. In those cases – the dreams were _really_ hilarious.

But that was it.

Nothing else about his condition was the least bit humorous. His body burned with fever. He could easily die from this, but he had no intention of giving up that easily. He wouldn’t let _Shawn_ off that easily. Nothing about this was easy.

Where was Shawn, anyway?

He had been captured by the bad guy. Shawn was supposed to rescue him. Shawn usually rescued him.

And the weird part was that he was absolutely certain Shawn _had_.

So where was he?

He was just going to have to wake up in order to find out.

oO0Oo

It wasn’t really that the Gusters disliked Shawn. They didn’t. For that matter – you could count on one shop teacher’s hand the number of people who had met Shawn and didn’t like him.

Everybody liked Shawn.

But the Gusters were a different sort. They had an idea of exactly who their son should be – who he _would_ be.

They hadn’t really ever asked him what he wanted. He’d tried to tell them but they hadn’t listened.

They knew what he should be. And Shawn had never helped him become what they wanted.

Twenty-something years ago, Shawn had simply seen who he was. And liked him – no matter what.   And Gus had done the same.

Today, they were brothers. More brothers than anything created by blood.

The Gusters saw how important they were to each other, and so, out of love for their son, they tolerated Shawn.

Now, sitting by their son’s hospital bed, they were eternally grateful. In spite of the fact that Burton would never have been kidnapped in the first place if he hadn’t been part of this psychic detective agency, the young Spencer had risked everything to rescue him; nearly getting himself killed in the process.

They had visited Shawn’s room briefly, but they hadn’t stayed long. As much as it could be construed as ‘Shawn’s fault’ that Gus had been injured, it could not be ignored that rescuing their son had placed Shawn at death’s door. Watching his still form, listening to the sound of the machine that forced air into his damaged lungs, seeing the father who sat and watched and waited without speaking and nearly without hope…

Winnie and Bill Guster had brought flowers, spoken empty comfort, and retreated to their own son’s bedside.

And when they returned, they learned that Gus’s temperature was down by two degrees. If the trend continued, he would start to wake up soon.

Hope flourished in Gus’s room even as it languished in Shawn’s.

oO0Oo

TBC…

(“There is no off position on the genius switch.” Is a David Letterman quote – just to give credit where credit is due.)

 


	8. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confession Time! I COMPLETELY forgot about Abigail! She's not in 'Shawn Takes a Shot' so I simply forgot they were together at the time. I covered for this by making up a totally lame excuse for her absence. Don't subject it to too much scrutiny - it won't survive.   
> I hope you're still interested...

oO0Oo   
**Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go**   
oO0Oo

Two days later, Gus’s infection was – barring any complications – slowly being brought under control. His temperature was nearly normal. And he was sleeping a lot, which was a big improvement.

Shawn wasn’t improving, but he wasn’t getting worse either. When the doctor called that ‘encouraging,’ Henry had simply glared. But the doctor insisted that he was hoping they could start to wean Shawn off the sedatives, allow him to wake up slowly. If only Shawn would cooperate.

Unexpectedly, it was Juliet who made the difference, although no one – not even Shawn – would ever realize it. All she did was talk Henry into going home for a shower and a few hours of sleep in a real bed. She had done it by promising that she would not leave Shawn’s side, and she would call him immediately at the slightest change.

Then she sat at his bedside and simply talked to him. She felt a little guilty because it should really be Abigail sitting there, but she remembered that Shawn’s girlfriend had gone to Chula Vista before any of this had started – even before Shawn had been shot. She’d left in order to be with her mother because her great-aunt had passed away. Juliet had no idea when she was expected to return, and knowing Shawn, she guessed that he hadn’t told Abigail anything about recent events.

She smiled and shook her head. She was pretty sure that Shawn thought keeping the news to himself would protect Abigail, but she was also pretty sure Abigail would not thank him for it. She knew how angry _she_ would be if someone she cared about lied to her about something important.

In the meantime, she was there, and Abigail wasn’t so she sat and talked. Juliet was the first one to tell Shawn that Gus was getting better. And then she went on to detail how the rescue had occurred, how Gus’s leg had been infected, and how his fever was down and he was expected to wake up soon. She told Shawn that Gus was okay.

That very night the doctor felt Shawn had improved enough that it was safe to replace his breathing tube with a nasal cannula, and thus far, he was holding his own.

 _That_ was a big improvement. Being able to breathe all by yourself is a nice ability to have.

And no one ever caught the connection.

oO0Oo

Shawn’s sub-conscious was really, really happy about all of this. The darkness and the quiet were slowly fading. He was becoming vaguely aware of certain things. He wasn’t quite awake yet – at least not _consciously_ , but his _sub_ -conscious was gettin’ busy. It was ordering decorations and planning lame party games. Shawn might have been slightly concerned – if he had been awake. But he wasn’t.

It was strange, the way his mind would sort of ‘sample’ the reality occurring around him. It was a little bit like when your DVD has a scratch: Certain scenes just freeze for no reason. Others skip ahead very quickly, and you’re left wondering ‘what happened? – what’d I miss?’ Sometimes he was sure his brain was just laughing at him as he tried to keep up. But he was able to grasp a few things:

People faded in and out, appeared and disappeared randomly, and they mostly said nice things about him and Gus. But that was the problem: Gus wasn’t there. He missed his buddy. Something had happened. He couldn’t quite remember what, but something bad had happened to Gus and that was _not_ okay. And _he_ wouldn’t be okay until he knew Gus was. But what he was gathering, without really hearing the words, was that Gus was getting better.

Part of him knew that Gus would be okay. And that was all that mattered.

Oddly, there was one topic his sub-conscious was even more interested in (at the moment) than Gus – and it wasn’t very much fun at all: his dad.

It really wasn’t fun - this topic: _Dad_. If he had his way, Shawn would have chosen a party game that was more entertaining, but he really didn’t have a lot of say in the matter.

His brain had decided his dad was a case to be solved. And it was really good at solving cases.

It had to be his sub-conscious at work. After all, it couldn’t _possibly_ be that _Shawn_ was worried. Not about _Dad_. _He_ hadn’t been shot, impaled, beaten, kidnapped, stabbed, nor had any of his bones broken…

But something was wrong – or at least, not right.   So it gathered all the clues: the things Dad had said, or hadn’t said. The facial expressions; body language; the way he seemed to be growing older by the hour. It scrutinized them, analyzed them, chewed them up and spit them out – just like always.

When Shawn decided he was _actually_ ready to wake up: think coherent thoughts, open his eyes and focus them on something, maybe even form words: the whole shebang - he had solved ‘the case.’ He was ready, (or not) to confront Dad.

(This of course had to be in the middle of the night)

oO0Oo

When he first opened his eyes, the room was still dimly lit, and quiet other than the beep of the heart monitor and the hiss of his oxygen. (Although that was WAY better than the _shoop-click-hiss_ of the ventilator – he hoped he never heard _that_ sound again. – the fact that he had never _consciously_ heard it was beside the point)

He slowly looked around, various items coming into focus as he concentrated on them: His leg – which held an intense ache that threatened from a distance, like a terrible army massed on a far-away plateau. He knew it would attack, and when it did, things would get really horrible for a while – but there was time enough to worry about that later. The tickle of the cannula – he wrinkled his nose like a rabbit to relieve it, assuming he was really quite cute when he did. And, of course, Dad.

His dad looked ridiculously uncomfortable. He was asleep in a chair next to the bed; his head leaned forward at an awkward angle. Shawn cringed. His dad already had a bad back. Why would he…? Oh yeah – the ‘case of the worried father’… Which really wasn’t a mystery at all anymore.

“Dad?”

Shawn raised his eyebrows at the ridiculous squeak that had just left his lips. He was glad his dad hadn’t woken up and heard it.

He decided to try to clear some of the gravel pile that had somehow been dumped in his throat, but that didn’t work as well as he’d hoped. He felt a cough coming on and for some odd reason, every ounce of his body was screaming at him to _not do that_ , but it was too late and he began to cough. _Painfully_.

Dude! His chest - _really_ – hurt.

He gave up on the whole ‘being conscious’ thing.

His sub-conscious – _and_ his dad - could just wait!! He began – no – he was really looking forward to leaping into the beckoning darkness.

He closed his eyes, just as Henry’s opened, “Shawn?”

Shoot. He peeked. Dad was awake. Too late.

At least the coughing had subsided, for the moment.

“Shawn.”

There was the strangest tone of voice in that single utterance. Shawn’s sub-conscious grabbed hold of it and began to analyze, as his conscious mind betrayed him and woke up. He blinked. _‘Please don’t make me be awake…”_

For Henry’s part, the tone had been born of a truly dizzying mixture of emotions for a man who, until recently, had been pretty much waiting for his son to die. The removal of the ventilator had been something of a shock to his system, and he had only just started to hope. Shawn actually waking up, opening his eyes and looking at him was… unexpected, although he knew it shouldn’t have been. He felt a mixture of shock, disbelief, fear (what if this was only temporary?), relief, thankfulness and utter joy.

If his tone of voice sounded a little odd, so be it. Then, being a man of action, far more than words, he acted: “Open,” he commanded gently.

Shawn had no idea what he was talking about until he blinked. His eyes focusing a little better, he realized that Henry was holding a spoonful of ice chips to his lips.

He obeyed, and was rewarded with the single greatest physical pleasure of his life: ice chips melting, sliding down his very sore throat and clearing at least a small portion of the gravel pile. The fact that they also quieted the cough that was threatening a repeat performance was an added bonus.

Okay – so ‘greatest physical pleasure’ really depended on one’s perspective. It was the greatest physical pleasure in recent memory…?

Yes, it was.

“Th’nks,” He whispered.

Henry nodded, and waited, watching.

“More?” Dad finally asked.

“’Kay,” Shawn rasped with a slight grin.

More pleasure.

When the last bit had melted, Shawn swallowed and murmured, “Nice.”

Henry actually chuckled.

“Is Gus _really_ okay?” he asked, and smiled contentedly when his dad nodded and returned his smile.

“You’re sure?”

Henry nodded again, “He had an infection, so he was out of it for a while, but he’s doing well… really!” He added insistently as his son stared at him intently.

“Dad…”

Henry fed him another spoonful as he elaborated, “You did it, Kid. You found him in time. Gus is safe.”

Shawn frowned. He really needed more information on that topic – and he was thankful he had time to get it… but Gus wasn’t the only thing demanded his attention:

He regarded his father very seriously; which surprised and concerned Henry, “Shawn?” he asked warily.

Shawn just looked at him. Here they were: alone, father and son - at 3am - in the hospital…

Shawn looked at him some more, trying to build the courage for what his sub-conscious was insisting he ask…

Henry helped, as usual, “Spit it out.”

“Do you want me to quit Psych?” he whispered, and there was no sarcasm, no anger, no rebellion. It was a simple, straightforward question.

oO0Oo

Henry froze. It was impressive (shocking?) that his son could still surprise him with his spot-on intuition. He’d thought he’d seen it all. Sometimes it was eerily similar to actually being psychic. How could Shawn possibly know exactly what had been in his mind?

More importantly, what was he supposed to say now?

Yes? No parent should ever outlive their child. Period. And no parent should ever have to spend this many hours wondering if their child was hurt – or still alive; or spend this much time at a hospital bedside waiting to find out if they would survive the night.

No? For the first time in his life Shawn had purpose – He was using his abilities and his skills – he was making a real difference in the world. For the first time, Shawn had (what Henry considered to be) a life. Psych had given him that. How could he ask him to stop? What would become of his son if he did? Would he leave town? Disappear?

“Do you?” came the soft, pained, but insistent voice.

“Shawn…”

“Do you?”

Henry sighed and sat back rubbing his sore neck with one hand in a vain attempt to release the knotted muscle.

His hand gave up and retreated to his lap. He took a deep breath, “Yes… and no.” He met Shawn’s bleary gaze, fully expecting his son to understand what he meant. After all, he could apparently read minds.

Shawn just nodded, “I’m sorry.” And the quiet voice was so sad it nearly broke Henry’s heart. How was it possible that Shawn understood? He could be so incredibly shallow and immature, and yet – occasionally – this incredible wisdom, well beyond his years, would break through.

But then a tiny smirk caught the corner of Henry’s mouth, “Would you?” he asked suspiciously.

At that, Shawn broke eye contact and tried to focus on something else in the room.

The fact that he didn’t seem to be able to brought Henry the sharp reminder of just how weak his son was, how close to death he had been a mere 36 hours ago. For Shawn’s sake, he held on to his smirk.

Both men were silent for several seconds.

Finally the younger man shrugged. And Henry’s smirk slowly faded, and transferred to his eyebrows, for he knew that shrug meant Shawn just might actually quit; that if his father said yes, he just might do it: Close up shop – and walk away.

It was that realization that made up Henry’s mind: suddenly and firmly. The door to the misery he’d been wallowing in was slammed shut and locked.

He’d been an idiot. He was a cop, after all. And his son was a cop – in every possible way except name.

Danger, taking risks, was just part of the job – and he’d known it could come to this since the first time little Shawn had put on his hat.

The fact that Shawn was impulsive and ran in where angels feared to tread, without calling for backup did not negate his success rate. And, in actuality, he did, almost always, _have_ backup: he had Gus.

He’d been an idiot. He opened his mouth to speak, but Shawn beat him to it.

“I remember… I remember how worried Mom would get; how many nights she stayed up, pacing, and wringing her hands when she thought I was asleep. Sometimes she would see me and we would sit on the couch and worry together. Then we would hear your truck in the distance and we’d both sneak up to our rooms before you could see.” Shawn smiled slightly at the memory. But the smile faded, “I was just a stupid kid, but it was really hard on her.” He wouldn’t meet Henry’s eyes. “And then- when Gus… When I couldn’t find Gus, and I thought…”

He swallowed, and Henry could tell the speech was exhausting him, but he doggedly continued, “I don’t want to make the people that I care about feel like that.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. At the moment he couldn’t remember Shawn ever being this open and honest. Maybe near-death experiences had that effect?

But he’d made up his mind, and he was going to tell Shawn exactly what he thought of his ‘job.’

He looked down at his hands, “I don’t want you to quit.” He said softly, “I hate seeing you hurt, or worrying about you-” ‘Hate’ seemed much too weak a word, but it would have to do, “But I don’t want you to quit. I don’t want you to stop putting criminals behind bars. I don’t want you to stop making this city safer than it was yesterday. I don’t want you to stop using your gifts – your abilities- I…” He briefly made eye contact, partly expecting Shawn to be laughing at him, or at the very least preparing a sarcastic comment.

He wasn’t. He was watching his father carefully. So Henry finished his thought:

“I don’t want you to close Psych. You and Gus have a lot more work to do. And I’m…” He swallowed and looked away, “I’m proud of you.”

At that last sentence, Shawn couldn’t resist. He grinned. Neither man knew whether the grin was born of sarcasm or appreciation. Both men were more comfortable with the former.

After a moment to let the truth of the statement sink in, Henry returned the grin, “And if you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you myself.”

Then Shawn snorted. His sub-conscious was releasing 99 red balloons and setting off fireworks because case ‘dad’ was closed, and things in ‘family-land’ were back to normal.

He knew it. His father knew it.

His lungs were very upset with his sub-conscious though, because now – due to the laughter – coughing would commence.

It did. _Very_ painfully.

His various body parts really needed to start getting along.

His dad carefully took his shoulders and helped him to a more upright position, gently rubbing his back until the coughing fit subsided. The last thing Shawn needed was to have that awful breathing tube reinserted. His father told him so, in no uncertain terms.

“I was sure…” Shawn tried to catch his breath as he wheezed, “that laughing… was always… a good idea.”

Henry cringed as he reached for the morphine button, “Not always, kid.” He pushed the button twice as he helped his son get comfortable.

Knowing Shawn was completely exhausted, physically and emotionally, he handed the device to him, asking, “You know what this is for?”

He nodded, deciding silence was the better part of valor at the moment and just breathing was taking a lot more of his attention than it should. Actually, keeping his eyes open was taking more of his attention than it should. He looked at the button in his hand, and then at his dad as the morphine took over, “Traitor…” he whispered as he drifted off to blissful darkness.

Henry smiled contentedly, took the deep breath he knew Shawn would have enjoyed, and leaned back in his uncomfortable chair. “Why can’t they put recliners in these rooms?” he mumbled to himself and closed his eyes.

TBC…

So that was Henry's chapter. Gus's is next.

And I am not going to remind you how much writers love reviews...

Oh. Wait...

 


	9. Last One to the Psych Ward is a Rotten Egg

oO0Oo   
**Last One to the Psych Ward is a Rotten Egg  
** oO0Oo

Gus and Shawn were squared off against a Godzilla type monster. It had a strong Irish hairline, but it was wearing a uniform from Schreiner Demolition. It kept throwing lit sticks of dynamite at them. Shawn, who was wearing his ridiculous catcher’s equipment, would catch every single stick and then somehow morph into Cy Young and pitch the sticks to Gus who hit every single one out of the park with a bat made out of duct tape.

The dynamite would then explode in the night sky like beautiful fireworks.

And when the Godzilla-thing quit throwing dynamite and started coming closer, Gus did a few tap steps and threw sand at his snout. The creature immediately fell back into a van and began bleeding all over the floor. Shawn thought that was hilarious and fist bumped him.

Gus swiped at his nose a couple times with his thumb as Shawn turned his back on the monster to join his buddy in the triumphant walk-away.

As Shawn turned, Gus saw the monster rise up behind his still giggling friend – growing to twice its former size. It had lost its strong Irish hairline but not its demolition uniform. And now it had Rollin’s brother’s face and it held a length of pipe in its claw.

It raised the pipe high in the air and started a mighty swing towards Shawn’s head. Shawn was still happily smiling, completely oblivious of his coming death.

Gus began to run towards them, but as is often the case with dreams, his legs wouldn’t move, and Shawn kept getting further away. He opened his mouth to warn his best friend but no sound would come out. And the pipe continued on its path. And Shawn kept smiling at him.

He had to scream – to warn Shawn – he kept trying: “Sh…” “Sha…” “Shawn” “SHAWN!!”

And he woke up shouting.

His parents were instantly on their feet.

“Gus!”

“Burton, are you alright?”

“How do you feel?”

“WHERE’S SHAWN?”

His parents shrank back at that, not knowing what to say, what to tell their son.

“There was a building… there was dynamite… a pipe… the building blew…” He swallowed the scratchiness in his throat, “Where’s Shawn? Did Lassie get him out?” He looked back and forth between the two of them.

“He’s alive, son.” His father finally answered. “He was hurt, but he’s here in the hospital, in another room. He’s alive.” The last time they had seen Shawn, the best that could be said was that the doctors were considering removing his breathing tube.

Relieved, Gus laid back, looked at the ceiling, and breathed, “What happened?”

His mother stood and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Just rest, sweetheart. We’ll talk more about that when you feel better.”

“Mom…” Gus began to protest but realized it was kind of pointless. He knew his parents, and they weren’t about to start describing the horrible events of the last… hours? Days? He realized he had no idea. “What day is it?”

“It’s Saturday, Sweetie.” His mom answered, patting his arm.

He looked at her. That really didn’t tell him anything.

He would just have to talk a nurse into letting him go roaming. See for himself how Shawn was doing, and find out just what had happened since the building blew up. That was the last thing he remembered.

So, for now, he visited with his parents and just enjoyed the comfort of it. Shawn was alive, and his parents were non-threatening, safe, and normal. It was enough for now.

And then, when visiting hours were over, he finally talked them into going home.

And then he talked a nurse into bringing him a wheelchair.

She agreed that she would bring it in the morning… after she had checked with the doctor… but Gus considered it a win.

oO0Oo

The next morning, Shawn really didn’t feel much like waking up. The emotionally draining visit with his dad had caused a physical setback a couple hours after. His oxygen levels had dropped and he’d come very close to having the hated breathing tube re-inserted. If not for Henry’s presence, it would have been.

Shawn didn’t appreciate needing dad, but he did like being able to breathe on his own - so he tolerated it, and followed all the instructions he was given, which had mostly involved taking painfully deep breaths for a lot longer than he wanted to.

Late that morning, he finally did wake up, and was forced to endure another round of dad cheerfully torturing him – that is - coaching him on how to breathe. He survived it by thinking about Gus and his Lamaze techniques.

About an hour after that he was rewarded for the accomplishment. His door opened and both he and Henry had looked at it expectantly. It was Gus. He was being pushed by Lassiter who was trying very hard to look like he wasn’t enjoying himself.

No one present could possibly have been unaffected by the utterly joyful look on Shawn’s face, “Gus! Buddy!”

Lassiter and Henry were suddenly drowning in subtext as Shawn and Gus began to interact. The two friends talked as if they hadn’t seen each other in months. Which, considering the fact that they had both spent a considerable amount of time wondering if they would ever see each other again, was really not all that strange.

Henry shook his head and left. Lassiter followed. One of them would return at the end of visiting hours to return Gus to his room.

oO0Oo

The next couple of days were interesting.

Now that there was no infection, Gus’s leg improved rapidly. He was discharged.

No one planned on telling Shawn that, though, and Gus continued to show up in his room in a wheelchair for visiting hours.

After much charm and begging, Shawn was also allowed his own personal conveyance and it was less than an hour after that they had their first wheelchair race.

It was met with stern disapproval, but…

As long as Shawn’s condition continued to improve, no one felt a _strong_ urge to change anything.

As long as Gus continued to monitor his friend’s weakness carefully and find a convenient excuse every time Shawn seemed to tire, it actually seemed to be improving his condition. His physical therapist even had to admit that pushing his chair would probably strengthen that shoulder faster than anything else.

So between his agonizing therapy sessions, after which he usually slept for a few hours; and the occasional visitor, (bearing pineapple smoothies, please) he and Gus became more and more familiar with the hospital hallways. The most deserted, long, and straight being their favorites.

Shawn was able to go longer and longer without his oxygen, and the second day, the two even found their way to the pediatric ward and visited there regularly – always leaving laughter in the wake of two grown men who could be just as childish as any of them.

The hospital staff grew first to tolerate, and then to love and appreciate them.

But it couldn’t last forever. Nor did anyone really want it to.

oO0Oo

At the same time, when he wasn’t sleeping, racing, visiting, or enduring torture (aka physical therapy) Shawn was also busy with something about which no one else (besides Henry) knew: He had been going back over the case file.

Even after everything that had happened, there was _still_ something that didn’t sit right with him. Usually at this point in a case, he had that ‘jigsaw’s finished’ feeling. He’d certainly expected to feel it with both Rollins brothers dead, but he didn’t, and he didn’t know why not.

He had complained about it to Henry and his dad had brought him a copy of the file, already stamped ‘closed,’ the next day.

Henry did it because of something he had learned when Shawn had been eleven years old. It had been the first time he’d let Shawn really follow an actual case. Not in person, of course, but he’d shared files with his son and discussed developments with him. And when Henry had broken case wide open and the criminals were convicted and put behind bars, he’d thought that was the end of it. He had been sleeping soundly as he always did after closing a case, when young Shawn had come into his bedroom at two in the morning and told him it wasn’t over.

The next day, on his lunch hour, he’d decided to take a chance and had gone to visit one of the convicts in prison. The guy had shocked him by spilling his guts: They’d had a partner that hadn’t been caught. Since they had _expected_ him to help them escape or somehow avoid prison, none of the arrestees had mentioned him. Now that they were _in_ prison, they felt betrayed. There was no way they were going to let that partner escape. Henry had made that final arrest the same day.

He trusted his son’s instincts. So- in spite of Shawn’s weakened condition, he’d decided to let him go back over the file. And when Shawn asked for a laptop so he could do further research, Henry brought him one.

But nothing seemed to develop. Shawn certainly never spoke of it again and he’d casually dismissed it when Henry had asked if he found anything. Henry had frowned suspiciously but let it go.

oO0Oo

One day, after an extra grueling race where they’d nearly taken out an orderly, Shawn and Gus found themselves in an empty waiting room. It had nice windows overlooking a garden and Shawn had taken a sudden, intense interest in the foliage.

Gus, assuming he was tired and in pain, was about to summon the usual back-up when Shawn spoke softly, “Gus… I’m… I’m sorry.”

Gus frowned and looked at him; suddenly understanding, but un-certain how best to respond.

“You don’t have to…” Shawn began.

“I know!” Gus responded in their sing-song way without letting Shawn finish. Then, when his buddy didn’t retort, “I know,” Gus repeated more seriously. He looked at the back of his best friend’s head as Shawn continued to stare out the window.

He really did know. Shawn was offering him an out. If Gus wanted to leave Psych for the safety of pharmaceutical sales, Shawn was telling his best friend that it was okay.

Gus knew the guilt that Shawn carried – would _always_ carry because of this whole thing and he did the only thing he knew to alleviate it: He rolled up beside his buddy and held out his fist.

Shawn looked over at him - much too seriously for a moment – wanting Gus to know that he _meant_ it. He really, _really_ meant it. Then he looked at the proffered fist, and met it with his own.

“C’mon, son!” Gus said.

And both men smiled.

“Dude – I think it might be time for bed.” Shawn admitted, and Gus chuckled.

“You want me to call ‘Heinrich’?” as they’d dubbed their usual ‘rescue orderly,’ “Or can you make it on your own?”

Shawn smirked, “I’ll race you,” and he was off.

Taken unawares, Gus tried to catch him, but he only caught up as Shawn reached his own room.

Breathless and weak, both friends knew he had overdone it, “Shawn-” Gus reprimanded.

Shawn shook him off, “I’m fine,” but he could barely maneuver to his own bedside. His lips had started to turn blue, always a bad sign, and he was breathing shallowly. His leg was screaming at him. His shoulder and ribs ached.

Gus pressed to button for the nurse to come and help get him settled.

Once he was relatively comfortable, and had his oxygen on full, he looked at his partner, “By the way, Gus – I _know_ you don’t need a wheelchair anymore.” Shawn had smirked at him and he’d grinned in defeat. “You can visit me without one – I’ll find someone else to race.”

“No, you won’t, Shawn. It’s time you got out of here, too. When’s Abigail coming back?”

Shawn smiled, “Boy, do I have a story to tell her!”

Gus looked at him in disbelief, “You haven’t told her _anything_?”

Shawn shrugged, “She was at a _funeral_! I’m gonna tell her about all of this?” he gestured at himself and the room in general, “I really think she’s had enough to deal with.”

Gus just shook his head.

“She gets back next week. I’ll tell her then.”

“Yeah – she won’t mind that at all.” Gus retorted sarcastically.

oO0Oo

The day had finally arrived, and Shawn was going home. He would continue to face a rigorous schedule of physical therapy, and he had a long list of dos and don’ts, but he also had people who cared about him enough to make sure he followed it.

There had been a long discussion about where he would go. Henry, of course, wanted him home. Gus had even offered to have him at his place, but Shawn wouldn’t hear any of it. He had insisted he return to Mimi’s Fluff n’ Fold. He’d had enough of sleeping in other places, in unfamiliar beds. He was going home.

If he had another reason for wanting to be alone, he wasn’t telling. No one needed to know about it – yet.

He even promised to check in with his dad or Gus every few hours so no one would worry – although whether he would keep that promise was anyone’s guess.

He claimed he would do nothing but sit on the couch and watch movies. Getting up only to use the bathroom or answer the door when his pizza arrived. His friends knew that getting around on crutches was really more of a chore than he wanted to deal with – especially with his nearly-healed-but-still-sore shoulder in the mix - so they tended to believe him.

Plus, they were quietly setting up a schedule of who was on ‘Shawn duty.’

Shawn knew all about it, but he just smiled and let them think they were in charge.

He had other plans.

oO0Oo

When all the paperwork had finally been signed and all the dos and don’ts repeated ad infinitum, Shawn had hobbled slowly out to Henry’s truck, and accepted his father’s help to maneuver his still heavily braced leg into place.

They didn’t talk much on the way home. Henry figured Shawn was in quite a bit of pain. He had pain pills to take home with him, but he hadn’t taken them yet – insisting he wanted to be settled on his couch at home before he went all loopy.

He was also busy with something on his phone, so the two Spencers, who were quite comfortable sharing silence anyways, didn’t speak until they arrived.

Henry reversed the process of getting Shawn into the truck and handed him his crutches. His son’s progress was almost excruciatingly slow, and – Henry suspected – excruciatingly painful. But he smiled the whole way – looking around at his surroundings as if he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. And, to be honest – he _was_ feeling the most freedom he’d felt since that morning on his bike an eternity ago.

He also had an ulterior motive for his scanning of the area, but he didn’t want Henry to know about it – not yet.

He managed to get inside, and Henry helped him get settled: A glass of water, his pills, and the remote at his side; pillows under his leg, and his phone within reach, Henry stood at the door and prepared to depart.

“So, did you ever figure out what was bothering you about the case?”

Shawn met his eyes just a fraction of a second too late, “Nope,” he shrugged, “Couldn’t find anything we didn’t already know.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed as he wondered if the slight delay was due to pain, or if Shawn was lying. But in the end, he nodded, turned, and, making certain that the door was locked, left.

He had every intention of returning in a couple hours, about the time he figured Shawn would head to bed. His son was going to need help getting settled for the first few nights, and if he was up to anything, Henry would find out about it eventually.

oO0Oo

Back at the station, Detective Lassiter was at his desk going over the recent files from their latest case. O’Hara had just gone to the evidence locker to pick up a few pertinent items. There had been a string of convenience store robberies, but the partners were in the process of narrowing down the list of suspects and they fully expected to make an arrest in the next day or two.

His phone beeped as a text came in, and he reached for it absently, his attention still on the file. It had actually been refreshingly peaceful to simply work a case without all kinds of psychic mumbo jumbo and flailing around. Not that he was glad Shawn had been injured… he was simply glad that the ‘psychic’ wasn’t there to bug him.

So it was with dismay that he read his text: “Hi Lsy! :-D Cn u cm ovr 2nt? Mt nd b-u tx :-P”

Lassiter closed his eyes and sighed. He wasn’t on ‘Shawn-duty’ tonight, Henry was. Why did he have to deal with this? Especially when he was on the verge of something with his current case! He had already been planning on staying late at the station because he felt he was onto something. If he was right, the arrest wouldn’t be made ‘in the next day or two,’ it would be made in the morning. And that would be good for his record. He really didn’t want to interrupt his momentum to go hold the idiot’s hand. Especially since his dad would already be there. And what was ‘mt nd b-u tx’ supposed to mean, anyways?

He tossed his phone into a drawer and went back to work.

TBC…

Uh Oh - Shawn, what are you up to??

Thank-you for reading "Don't Count Your Gusses..." We know you have a lot of choices when you read fanfiction...

Oh wait, that's something else...


	10. The Fat Lady Ain't Singin' Yet

oO0Oo   
**The Fat Lady Ain’t Singin’ Yet**   
oO0Oo

Juliet O’Hara was glad that they were closing in on the solution to this case. It would feel good, after the craziness, fear, and uncertainty of the last weeks, to have something make sense. And this case was doing exactly that. They just had a few loose ends to clear up and they would have their criminal and all the proof they needed to put him in prison.

It was all very straightforward, and she had thought her partner shared in her sentiment until she’d returned from Evidence.

When she came back, his relaxed position at his desk had disappeared, and he almost snapped at her when she asked him a question about the evidence. She frowned to herself, but decided not to pursue it. Preferring, instead, to follow up on her own leads. She knew neither of them had any thought of heading home for a while yet.

About an hour later, she heard her partner slam his drawer open and shut and then something landed on her desk. It was his phone.

“What does that mean?” He growled, pointing. And suddenly she understood his frustration. The text was from Shawn and was cryptic enough to be extremely annoying to a man whose goal in life was to make things clear. She knew Shawn did it on purpose, and barely swallowed her smile.

The smile was still in her voice though, as she answered him, “Well, I think it says, ‘Hi, Lassie, Can you come over tonight…’ But I’m not sure what-”

“I got that part.” He partner interrupted, “What’s the last part? And isn’t his dad supposed to be over there tonight? What does he want with us?”

She raised her eyebrows at the ‘us’ because _she_ hadn’t gotten a text. But she tried to answer him, “’mt nd b-u tx’ – well, ‘tx’ usually means ‘thanks,’ and since it’s at the end of the text that would make sense.” She paused frowning, trying to hear the other three ‘words’ in her head. “Well, I don’t think mt is mountain… I think he’s left out the vowels, so ‘mt’ could be ‘mat,’ ‘met,’ ‘mut,’ ‘meet?’”

“Might?” Lassiter offered.

“Yeah, that would work. ‘Might nd…’ Might need?” She questioned, “You know, we could just call him and ask.”

Her partner snorted at the idea that he would admit that he couldn’t solve the puzzle the fake psychic had put before him.

“Okay – ‘might need’ makes sense, but I have no idea what b-u… oh…” her voice trailed off as she realized exactly what it probably meant.

Lassiter had the same thought at the same time, “Might need back-up.” The detectives looked at each other. For what could he possibly need back-up?

Juliet picked up her phone and called Shawn. When there was no answer, she called Henry. When he answered, she asked him about it. Lassiter could hear the man swear from across the desk, but he couldn’t make out the rest until O’Hara hung up and stood, already gathering her gun and badge. “Henry says there was a loose end bothering Shawn about the case. He denied that there was anything wrong to Henry, but now…”

“Let’s go.” Lassiter growled.

“Henry’s meeting us there.”

And the two were out the door.

oO0Oo

When Henry had left, Shawn had sighed and looked longingly at the pain pills in the little bottle at his side. After the past days, he knew exactly the relief that they promised, but he also knew it would be a while before he could take them, not being able to afford the wooziness they would also bring. So he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to quiet the throbbing that had been growing louder ever since he’d left the hospital.

Then he looked at the phone, wondering if he could really get away with ordering a pizza. After so much hospital food, it sure would be nice. Gus and Juliet had brought him pineapple smoothies, but he hadn’t had pizza in a very long time.

Pizza would have to wait, along with the pain relief. Hopefully his evening’s activities wouldn’t take too long to get started. And hopefully, his back-up wouldn’t take too long to arrive.

He thought about calling Gus – wished it was safe to call Gus. He knew his partner would be there before anyone else if he did. He also knew that he would be angry when he _didn’t_ call. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk getting Gus in trouble twice on the same case. He just couldn’t take the risk. Shawn needed to know that Gus was safe – just this once. His buddy would have to wait.

And then the doorbell rang.

Shawn sighed, hoped he wasn’t being even more reckless than usual, and gritted his teeth against the coming pain. Then he grabbed his crutches and struggled to his feet.

When he finally reached the door and managed to open it, he looked calmly at the woman standing there, holding a gun pointed at his heart and said, “Well, you’re not the usual delivery girl.”

“Get inside, Spencer, or I’ll just kill you where you stand.”

Shawn sighed, and struggled back to his former seat. She followed him in and closed and locked the door. Then she took a seat across from him. She kept her weapon trained on him the entire time.

“Are you really this stupid?” she asked.

“Um. No.” Shawn answered simply, “I was waiting for you.”

She snorted, “Yeah – right. You knew I was coming to kill you, so you sat alone in the dark and waited for me… Like I’m going to believe that.”

Shawn shrugged, “You can believe what you want, but I have no death wish. I think I made that clear by surviving your boyfriend. I’m only doing this to make absolutely sure you spend the rest of your life behind bars.” He nonchalantly picked up his cell and checked his messages.

She laughed, “That’s not going to work…” And she pulled a black box out of a large pocket and waggled it at him. “Neat little toy, don’t you think? Blocks all wireless activity. It only works short distances, but that’s all it needs to do. I got them on sale,” she smirked.

He shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. I don’t need it. I just wanted to see if the Mentalist was a re-run.”

She just blinked at him. “You’re alone, you’re crippled, you have a gun pointed at your heart, your land-line is cut, and you have no cell coverage. You still think you have the advantage?”

Shawn smiled, “Only because I do.”

At that point, Shawn’s outward confidence was such that she began to look slightly worried. “Your weakness is that you are too confident.”

“Yours is that you are too desperate to escape. Desperation makes people do stupid things: Like coming here. You should have just left.”

“Shawn, Shawn!” she chided, “I watched you, remember? I watched you all through that joke of a trial and through all the days after. I watched as you went after Martin – with a vengeance, I might add. You’re smart.” She finished grudgingly, “Too smart. I came here to kill you. _So that_ I can escape. You’re the only thing threatening my freedom and I have you at barrel’s end. Why should I be worried?”

Shawn was still smiling. “Because there are police outside this house. Shoot and you’ll only be sealing your own fate.”

She shook her head vehemently, never taking her eyes - or her gun - off Shawn. “I checked quite thoroughly, I assure you.”

Inwardly Shawn smiled because he had succeeded in distracting her from the fact that she would also be sealing _his_ fate. He was slowly gaining the upper hand.

Outwardly Shawn rolled his eyes, “Well, obviously they aren’t going to get _here_ until after you’re inside. Otherwise, how could we trap you and record your confession?” he paused and watched her eyes flick briefly to the windows, “But they’re nearby.”

“My con-” she readjusted her aim and cocked her weapon, but if her actions bothered Shawn in the least, he didn’t show it. “No.” She said simply.

He couldn’t let any concern whatsoever show. His only chance of living until morning was to convince her that there _were_ police outside. It was the only thing that would stay her hand.

Were there police outside? There had better be.

Was it possible he had gotten a little too accustomed to having Lassie and Jules swoop in at the last moment?

He put finger to temple, “Right now, I am sensing that officers are approaching frommm…” he paused, appearing to concentrate, “That direction!” He pointed triumphantly at the one wall that had no windows. “Soon they will have the place surrounded. All according to plan.”

Shawn _saw_ the moment she began to doubt, the moment she got nervous. He drove the point home, “They already know everything about you. I specifically told detectives Lassiter and O’Hara all about how you were the ‘hidden partner,’ the mastermind behind everything, the one smart enough to make her partners look like they worked alone. They know. And they’ll be here any moment.”

Then Lassie gave him exactly what he needed to seal the deal, “Look!” he pointed, “The reflection in the store across the street.”

She stood and looked where he pointed, her gun never wavering from his chest, but she saw movement reflected in the glass. It was too dark to see it clearly, but it was enough to convince her, “I can’t believe this! Now I have to kill them as well as you!”

Suddenly things were not quite going according to plan. She was supposed to stay in the house with him until she was surrounded. He had been planning on keeping her attention on himself. She was supposed to think there were too many officers outside to risk escaping. Showing her the reflection may have been a mistake. Shawn forced himself to take a deep, painful breath.

This was the tightrope moment. Shawn knew she now saw two options: Kill him and then run, or take out the detectives and then come back for him. He suddenly hoped she believed him too weak for her to worry about.

She quickly crossed the room, threw the door open and ran.

He struggled to his feet in time to watch carefully as she escaped through the shadows, to the bushes across the way. She knelt there and took firing position just as Jules, who Shawn realized with a sinking feeling had _not_ _seen_ her flight, appeared in front of his door. Okay - _that_ was definitely not part of his plan!

oO0Oo

On the way there, Lassiter and Juliet had all but convinced themselves that Shawn was playing a joke – that he just wanted them to pick up Chinese or be his ‘back-up’ in finishing a pizza, or something. They both agreed on the punishment he would receive were that the case.

Neither one mentioned that their friend was simply too fragile right now to take the chance that he was bluffing.

When they got there, Lassiter parked half a block away and they approached the building from the side. O’Hara drew and checked her weapon, but Lassiter refused to commit that fully to the ruse just yet.

They were about ten feet from the corner of the building, and about to get a full view of the front door and most of the inside through the large plate glass windows, when they heard the front door open and slam shut, the bell jingling cheerfully and ironically, and someone running away. Were they too late? O’Hara glanced at Lassiter as he pulled his weapon and nodded once, sharply.

She cleared the front of the building, and was about to open the front door, when suddenly it flew open and a blur of checkered flannel crashed into her, throwing her to the ground. Her head hit the sidewalk and she saw stars.

In that same instant, Lassiter heard a gunshot and something poked a hole in the wood next to the door, _exactly_ where his partner’s head had been a split second ago.

Then he felt something whistle past his ear as another hole appeared in the front of the building and Shawn stopped apologizing to Juliet long enough to yell at him to get down, get down, please, please, _please_ , get down!

Lassiter didn’t need the warning. He knew when he was being shot at. He dropped, and tried to aim – tried to return fire. He was trying to find where the shots were coming from, but there was no way to know. He could see nothing in the shadows.

Spencer’s movements distracted him and he watched the idiot who was lying half on top of his partner, grab O’Hara’s weapon from her hands and bring it to bear on a spot in the darkness.

“Spencer!” He shouted in protest, wondering what he could _possibly_ be thinking - pointing a pistol randomly into the darkness.

Shawn had _really_ been hoping that his back up was going to… well… _back him up!_ But he hadn’t expected their killer to make a run for it so early in the game. He also hadn’t realized that Lassie’s eyesight was that poor.

What _Lassiter_ didn’t know was: not only was Shawn’s night vision quite a bit better than his, but the psychic had watched closely as the shooter fled the building, and knew exactly where she was hiding.

“What are you doing?!” Lassiter shouted as two more holes appeared in the Fluff n’ Fold, followed by a shattering of the front window. Glass rained down on him.

Shawn no longer had any time or any choice: he fired, and hoped that she wouldn’t move and spoil his shot.

There was a cry in the darkness.

Shawn painfully rolled off of Juliet, groaning while apologizing once again, and grunted at Lassiter, “Go! But – be careful, I didn’t kill her, she’s still armed, and she _really_ doesn’t want to get caught.”

Lassiter was already rising, his gun trained on the spot he now knew their assailant was hiding. With one glance at his partner who looked a bit dazed, but otherwise unharmed, he complied, growling at Spencer as he went, “You have no need to tell me my job!”

Shawn turned his attention to the woman on the ground, “Jules?” He asked softly, “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

She blinked several times, shook her head and sat up. She looked at him incredulously, “What? Why…?” But she just shook her head when she realized she couldn’t wait for the answer. She got to her feet a bit unsteadily and went after her partner just as Henry’s pick-up roared up to the front of the shop.

“SHAWN!!” Henry cried, out of the cab almost before he’d thrown it into park, “What happened?!” He was on his knees next to his son, carefully assisting as he gingerly worked himself into a sitting position.

“Well, that’s kind of a long story. But really it’s just Lassie and Jules wrapping up a case as usual,” he had the audacity to grin at his dad, “Wanna grab my crutches for me? I sorta dropped them.”

Henry sat back on his heels and huffed in frustration. There were so many things he wanted to scream at his son at the moment that he was tongue tied.

Shawn looked at him with just a hint of apology in his eyes. He knew exactly what Henry wanted to say.

Henry recognized the look, so he merely scowled as he got up and grabbed the crutches Shawn had dropped when he saved Juliet. They both looked up as Lassiter and O’Hara dragged a handcuffed, bleeding, and violently struggling woman out of the darkness. When they reached the front of the building, they spun her around and forced her to sit with her back to the still-intact front window. She cried out at the rough handling. As soon as they let go of her she started to get up to run. It was only when Lassiter cocked his gun and pointed it at her head, Juliet following suit, that she stilled.

Lassiter called for back-up with his free hand.

“Jules, Lassie?” Shawn spoke cheerfully from his spot on the sidewalk, “I’d like you to meet the _real_ Karen Miller…”

TBC…


	11. The Big Reveal

oO0Oo  
 **The Big Reveal**  
oO0Oo

Sitting on the sidewalk in front of his damaged apartment, Shawn thought back to that list of do’s and don’ts that he’d been given at the hospital. He was pretty sure that ‘play football’ (that is: run and tackle someone) wasn’t actually on the ‘don’t’ list, but he was also pretty sure it should have been.

You probably couldn’t really call what he had done, ‘running’ – but when he’d seen Miller take aim, he simply _had_ to get to Juliet before the bullet did.

The fact that he’d succeeded more than made up for any “discomfort” he might be feeling currently.

Due to his little extra-curricular activity, Shawn was in the greatest pain he’d ever experienced, which was saying something considering everything he’d been through in the last couple weeks. He remembered telling Garth he was in the worst pain of his life and almost laughed because while that had been a bon-fire, what he felt now was a small sun.

He was completely and utterly exhausted. His leg felt as if it were freshly broken, his ribs were in a vise that was making it harder and harder to take one of those painful, deep breaths he knew was supposed to take, and the pain and warmth spreading across his back told him he’d probably torn some nearly healed stitches…

But he wasn’t about to let anyone know it.

Henry had grabbed the crutches and returned to his son’s side. At the moment, he was pretty sure that Shawn should just stay on the ground until the ambulance arrived. But his stubborn child was already getting up and so Henry sighed and helped him. He became even more concerned when he nearly had to lift Shawn bodily onto his feet.

He then helped Shawn position the crutches so he could put his weight on them with a minimum of discomfort, but when he placed his hand on his back in support, he felt wetness. He drew his hand away and saw red. Shawn was bleeding.

“You tore your stiches.” Henry ground out quietly.

Shawn just turned a bright smile on him to say, ‘I know.’ But Henry could see the way his teeth were clamped tightly together.

He sighed and went back inside. Shawn needed a better alternative to the crutches.

“Spencer?!” Lassiter, still in growl mode, left the ‘you’d better start explaining’ unsaid.

Shawn figured he better get his reveal going, and managed two steps towards the woman moaning on the sidewalk. He raised one hand to his temple and addressed her, “ _You_ were behind the _whole_ thing from the beginning. It was _you_ all along.”

Jules frowned, “What do you mean, Shawn? Who is this? Karen Miller died when the house exploded… didn’t she?”

Shawn turned slightly towards Jules, “That’s what she wanted us to think.” He looked back at their prisoner and continued, “ _You_ were the small time thief who came up with a brilliant plan to rob an armored truck by weakening the floor plate. But you didn’t want to take the risk yourself, so you found someone who could actually pull it off for you: Your boyfriend’s brother was in prison with a skilled welder. What could be simpler?” He started counting off on his fingers: one finger, “Talk _them_ into committing the crime,” two fingers, “split the cash between the four of you,” three, “and disappear. No one could ever tie it back to you, because you were never _directly_ involved. You and Martin would be in Canada the whole time!” Shawn paused to catch his breath, dropping his hands to readjust his grip on his crutches before continuing.

“You and Martin… That’s messed up. How could you date that guy? He was creepy! With the greasy hair,” Shawn pretended to stroke his own hair, “and the-” He was beginning to describe Martin’s large nose with his fingers when Juliet interrupted.

“Shawn!”

He stopped. He couldn’t glare at Juliet like he would’ve Gus, so he just continued, “You planned the whole thing out perfectly. Martin wanted to be in on it, but you knew that if he was, there was that much more chance of it leading back to you, so you kept him out of it. You wanted…” he tried to take a breath, but the vise around his ribs was making that increasingly difficult, “wanted him to stay in Canada.”

At this point, Henry reappeared with a wheeled desk chair from inside. He gently supported Shawn as his son relinquished the crutches that were actually doing more harm than good at the moment, and sat down. He grimaced as the wound on his back hit cloth, but glanced at his dad in pure gratitude before continuing.

Henry scowled angrily.

“Martin’s brother, Eric and Garth Longmore… sorry - Stubbins.” Shawn shook his head as if to clear it, “Eric and _Stubbins_ were ready to go, but it was your idea to do a test run on the ice cream truck. That was your first mistake!” Shawn grinned again, “’Cause that was when _Gus and I_ got involved. If you had just gone ahead with the plan, we might never have known… but ice cream? Boy, I bet you wish you had that decision back, huh?”

He swallowed again and forced himself to take one of those deep, painful breaths. He closed his eyes to hide how much it hurt, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Jules checked her watch and wondered where the ambulance was.

“But then Gus and I figured out what you were doing and Gar- _Stubbins_ had to get me out of the way, so he shot me. After that, everything went south... Eric killed… killed Garth and got caught by… by a fantastic crime fighting… team…” his breaths kept getting shorter. He swallowed and trudged on, “Once Eric was put on trial, you _couldn’t_ keep Martin out if it anymore, so you followed him to Santa Barbara, and tried to scare Gus and me off the case with your threats… You were desperate to keep Eric out of prison in order to keep Martin under control and yourself beyond suspicion.”

Deep breaths were no longer possible, so he took a few shallow ones.

Henry grimaced, watching his son’s hard-fought recovery deteriorate before his eyes. He went inside to see what else he could find to help while they waited for the EMTs.

“But then Eric died in prison and there was no stopping Martin any more.”He shook his head, “You knew he would come after us. You didn’t care if we died – but it increased the chance…” breathe, “the chance that it would blow back on you.”

Henry reappeared with the pain pills and a glass of water which Shawn waved away – He wasn’t finished, yet.

“But your threats didn’t work. And you knew Martin wouldn’t wait... In fact – he took Gus without your knowing. You only wanted to save yourself. You knew if Martin kept it up, I would find you,” he chuckled briefly, not wanting to start coughing, “ _And I did_.”

Henry watched his son’s lips slowly turning blue and cursed the EMTs for being so slow, “Shawn – you can do this later.”

Shawn just smiled and ignored him, “You knew Martin would use his demolition experience. When he wired your house, you knew you had lost control of the situation. That’s when you killed a woman who matched… matched your description…” here, Shawn turned to Lassiter and Jules, “That’s… the murder Vick called us…” He shook his head, waving his hand vaguely rather than finish, “Amy Elmbridge happens to look just like her,” he pointed at Miller, solving a _second_ case for the SBPD with those words. “You even knocked out all her teeth so there’d be no dental records to check. You put her body in the house. Then you… you blew it early. – You saved my life.” The three others present sighed in relief as they finally heard sirens in the distance.

“Martin was an idiot!” she spit the words. “He would have killed you. And at that point I was counting on _you_ proving it was _him_ so that _I_ could go free.”

Shawn chuckled, then coughed, “Gotcha.” But then his face turned hard. “Your second mistake was not caring what Martin did to Gus.” Shawn was growing weaker, his voice softer, but somehow angrier. “You… you should have known I wouldn’t… wouldn’t… stop… Blowing the house was… your final… mistake. Then I knew… I remembered Martin’s demo…lition ex…perience…”

“Shawn…” Henry chided. His son needed to rest, but he also needed to finish this. The EMTs were almost there.

“SBPD was… investigating… theft…” he was gasping now, unable, any more, to draw even a shallow breath. “Dad?”

Henry grimaced at the request but took over. He spoke quickly, “The SBPD was investigating the theft of a single uniform, three sticks of dynamite, and a van. Ridiculous things to steal unless you have a very specific purpose. Once the house blew – which would take about three sticks if they were attached to a gas appliance – we only had to find out where Schreiner Demolition was planning an implosion. It was easy from there.” He turned back to Shawn, “I still don’t get how you knew it wasn’t the real Karen Miller in the house.”

Shawn smiled tiredly as the paramedics and the police rushed in. “Autopsy.” He whispered, “Took some resear– reminding!” his hand had drifted to his lap, but now it popped back to his temple, “I had to… remind the spirits over and… over but they told me Karen Miller, also broke… her leg once upon… a time.”

The woman in question screamed at him as her arm was being bandaged by the EMTs.

“Body had no hardware.” Shawn gestured weakly at his own leg which would forevermore make it problematic to go through airport security.

Henry frowned angrily and geared up to scold Shawn for luring a murderess to his house when he was completely defenseless, but the paramedic placed a much needed oxygen mask on his son’s face.

Shawn pushed it away before he could position it, though, answering what he knew his dad was going to say, “If I… hadn’t been… alone… she wouldn’t have come…”

He was so weak the young man assisting him easily pushed his hand away and settled the mask, “Just breathe, Shawn.”

But Shawn hadn’t stopped talking because he couldn’t continue. He’d stopped because he saw something: Karen Miller had quit struggling, and was looking directly at him with a small smirk as she was led towards a waiting cruiser.

It was over. She was going to prison. Why was she smiling?

And then Shawn _saw_.

He _saw_ the Fire Marshall’s report that said the house was blown with the approximate equivalent of _two_ sticks of TNT, not three. That a remote detonator had set it off where Martin’s usual method was a timer. He _saw_ Karen saying, _“Neat little toy, don’t you think? Blocks all wireless activity. It only works over short distances, but that’s all it needs to do. I got them on sale,”_

Them??

“No.” Shawn breathed, but only Henry heard. He leaned closer to his son.

“No!” Shawn’s voice was weak, but desperate, “NO!” He tried to shout.

Karen Miller began to laugh.

“Dad,” Shawn grabbed a handful of his father’s shirt and whispered desperately to Henry, “Gus. Call Gus! She’s…”

The paramedic looked up in concern as his patient’s heart rate suddenly doubled.

“Shawn?” Henry asked, but he was watching a now maniacally laughing Miller being placed into a waiting cruiser. “What about Gus?”

Shawn closed his eyes. “She’s going to kill him.” His voice was completely hopeless. He’d left Gus out of this to protect him – and now it might be the very thing that got him killed.

Henry knelt in front of him, eyes wide. Where anyone else (except maybe Gus) would have simply pointed out that what Shawn claimed was impossible, Henry grabbed his shoulders, “Shawn! Talk!”

Shawn’s eyes opened and he looked desperately at his dad, “She took one of the sticks of dynamite from the house before she blew it, dad. She has a timer… _something_ … I don’t know. She’s going to use it … kill Gus. It’s - back-up plan –revenge. Maybe the Blueberry – it’s small enough – one stick…”

Then he shocked everyone by standing up. “Sorry – gotta go - oh.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Henry grabbed him as he took his first step and immediately crumpled, consciousness deserting him for a moment. The paramedics helped Henry pick him up and they laid him on the waiting gurney.

Lassiter and Juliet had heard everything and were already on their way to their car, Juliet frantically trying to reach Gus by phone. But, of course, the signal was blocked.

Once he was prone, consciousness returned and Shawn picked up where he left off, “Dad! I have to-”

“You have to go to the hospital.” The gurney was already moving as Shawn began to struggle weakly, “Shawn! Stop!” Henry followed alongside, a calming hand on his arm.

“Dad!!”

“Shawn! We’ve got this.” The gurney paused, “Lassiter and Juliet are already on their way!” Shawn looked into his eyes so scared and desperate that his voice softened, “We’ll get to him in time, Shawn. Trust us.”

“Dad…”

Shawn’s hand slipped from Henry’s as the gurney once again moved towards the waiting ambulance, “Dad…” came the plaintive cry.

Henry only watched for a second before running to his truck. He tore out of there faster than the ambulance. He could do a lot more for Shawn’s health by finding Gus than he could sitting in a waiting room.

oO0Oo

Once inside the ambulance the paramedics went to work.

Shawn was still protesting, “No… I… have… to…”

The EMT’s calm voice distracted him momentarily as spots began to dance in his vision, “Hey, Shawn. Don’t know if you remember me, but we met before. I’m Mike.” Mike continued to speak calmly to his patient as he worked.

“Gus… I…”

“You were pretty out of it, but we met at the warehouse where you got yourself in trouble last time. We got you and Gus through that, and you’re both going to be fine now, too.” Mike had been one of the paramedics who pulled Shawn from the wreckage and, although he’d spoken to his patient just as cheerfully then, he’d been convinced he was looking at a dead man.

He remembered the moment when Shawn had stopped breathing. The whole way to the hospital he’d expected Shawn’s heart to stop beating, but it hadn’t. He’d held on. This guy was a fighter.  He wasn’t sure exactly what Shawn was worried about, but he needed his patient to calm down and breathe, or he wasn’t going to make it. He prepared a general anesthetic and got ready to intubate. “Your dad and those detectives? They’ve got this. You can just…”

Shawn saw what he was doing though the edges of his vision were foggy, “No... Please, don’t. I… have to… awake…”

Mike considered briefly. He knew that a patient’s emotional well-being could make the difference in a life or death situation. And he knew the story of what had happened at the warehouse – what Shawn had done to save his friend. He didn’t usually get the whole story about his patients beyond their current condition, but he’d been impressed, and so he’d asked around. Whatever was going on now – he realized Shawn was still worried about his buddy.

“O2’s at 85 and falling,” his fellow paramedic murmured as she continued to work.

Mike made a rather risky decision, “Okay, Shawn, listen to me.”

Shawn did his best to open his eyes and pay attention.

“You see this number?” He pointed to the readout on the machine next to them, “This tells me how much oxygen you’re getting. It’s at 84 now. If it hits 80, you are in real danger and I will have to put you under and intubate you. If you don’t want that, you have to _breathe.”_ Actually, at this level of hypoxia it was impressive he was awake at all.

Shawn looked at the number and then back at Mike.

“I know the last thing you want to do right now is take a deep breath, but that’s what you have to do if you want to stay awake…” He stopped because his patient’s eyes had closed, but then he saw why. Shawn was taking slow deep breaths, each one deeper than the one before. Tears leaked from beneath his eyelids, and Mike had a pretty good idea of the agony his patient was in. He prepared medication that would take the edge off the pain and reduce the urge to cough as well. “85 Shawn. That’s it. Keep going…”

oO0Oo

“Where is he?” Lassiter growled at his partner as she hung up her phone.

“He’s still not answering. It’s too late at night for him to be at work, and there’s no reason for him to be at Psych. I think we’ve got to try his apartment.”

They’d even put out a BOLO, but so far they’d heard nothing. Lassiter pulled a hard right and tore down the street towards Gus’s home.

Henry, having been to Gus’s place a few times over the years, knew the area well and beat the detectives by a nose, pulling in just ahead of the cruiser. He screeched to a stop about fifty yards from the Blueberry – just in case.

He jumped out and yelled to them, “There’s the car! Did you get ahold of him?” Henry’d had no better luck reaching Gus by phone. Shawn hadn’t had a chance to tell them about Miller’s little toy. But the Blueberry was sitting, still in one piece, on the street in front of the building. They were there in time.

“There he is!”

“Gus!” Juliet yelled, “Gus, stop!!”

Gus was just coming out his front door. If the Blueberry was wired to explode, and could go at any second, they needed him to get under cover. They were too far away and it was too dark to see just how close he was to the car, or what cover might be available to him.

“Gus!!! GET DOWN!!!” Henry roared, “GET DOWN NOW!!!” Inwardly he was thinking, ‘for Shawn’s sake, as much as your own- be safe.’

Henry hadn’t even finished his yell when the Blueberry disappeared in a fireball.

oO0Oo

The ambulance was nearing the hospital, and Shawn’s oxygen level was still slowly rising when: _“Be advised of an explosion at 4938 North 23 rd Street Santa Barbara. Fire crews are enroute…”_

With all the other noise, and their level of concentration on their patient, neither Mike nor his fellow EMT registered the announcement on the radio. The driver noted it and resolved to check if they would be needed after they had dropped off their current charge. But Shawn – being Shawn – didn’t miss anything: He heard the announcement. He recognized the address. He forgot to breathe.

“Shawn? Shawn!” The paramedics redoubled their efforts as their patient’s oxygen levels dropped dramatically and his pulse rose dangerously. He was about to go into cardiac arrest if they didn’t act quickly. “C’mon, Buddy, don’t do this!” Things were suddenly very intense in the back of the ambulance as it pulled up to the hospital with an extremely unstable patient.

oO0Oo

TBC…

Just couldn’t resist giving you guys one more cliffhanger.

I have an extremely high regard for those in the medical profession – especially those who respond in emergencies. However it should be noted that I have no real medical knowledge myself so please forgive any errors. I did my best with google, and threw in a few ‘medical sounding’ words just to make it seem like I knew what I was talking about.

okay – so the Blueberry exploding at just that moment was a tiny bit… shall we say, _convenient_? (she set a timer that just happened to wind down at that particular moment?? Seriously??) But this is fan fiction and I make no apologies! :-D

Gus’s address is completely made up. I don’t even know if there is a 23rd street in Santa Barbara. Did we ever see Gus’s home in the show???

(Yes, we did. I wrote this before 'Dead Air' and 'Cog Blocked' aired. I think those were the only times...)


	12. All Good Things Must Come to an End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's so sad to post a last chapter. :-(

oO0Oo  
 **All Good Things Must Come to an End**  
oO0Oo

Juliet crouched with her back to the cruiser, her eyes squeezed shut. She had no intention, at the moment, of opening them anytime soon. Things _really_ needed to stop exploding. She vowed she would not even attend the 4 th of July fireworks this year. She’d had enough.

Honestly, though, the problem wasn’t the explosions themselves. It was the people she cared about. She kept finding them in danger, or badly hurt – She kept wondering if they were worse than hurt. All because things kept exploding. And now…

 _Gus_.

She couldn’t look.

Her partner stood cautiously, “O’Hara?” he asked, a trace of concern in his voice.

“Right behind you.” she said with a lot more conviction than she felt.

“Spencer!” Lassiter was suddenly - angrily - yelling at Shawn’s dad, so she figured so he must have rushed in right away. Gus was like a second son to him. Lassiter ran after him. Henry probably already knew whether Gus was…

Her eyes popped open. She stood and turned. She had to know. She watched her partner run past the burning hulk and towards the elder Spencer who was leaning over… Her view of the ground was blocked.

But then, in the light from the burning car, she saw Henry reach out a hand, grasp Gus’s forearm and pull him to his feet. She saw him discreetly check for injuries as he seemed to brush him off and help straighten his jacket.

“It’s a company car!” Juliet could hear the familiar wail cover the distance between them, and she allowed herself to breathe.

Before she realized what she was doing, she had crossed the distance and surprised everyone, including herself, by throwing her arms around Gus. “Are you okay? Really?” She asked, holding him at arm’s length and looking him over.

Gus was clearly shaken, but managed a small smile, “After all these years? When Shawn’s dad yells like that? – I do what I’m told without thinking about it!”

“It’s a good thing, too.” Lassiter commented dryly, but Juliet could tell he was just as pleased as anyone else.

“I was just going over to Shawn’s... Why did the Blueberry blow up?” Gus was trying vainly to fill in the blanks. “What am I going to tell my boss? Wait – why are you here?!! You’re supposed to be with Shawn!”

Henry lost his smile, “Shawn’s in the hospital.”

“What?!? Why?! What happened?” Gus looked from one face to the next, but it was Lassiter who filled him in.

“We missed one. There was another partner in the whole Rollins thing. Karen Miller – the woman we thought died when the house exploded?” He said it like a question since that had happened while Gus had been kidnapped and Lassiter wanted to make sure he’d heard the whole story.

Gus nodded.

“She didn’t. Wasn’t her. She used a body double – make us think she was dead. Throw us off the trail.”

Juliet picked up the thread, “But Shawn figured it out. She came to his apartment tonight to kill him-”

“What?!” Gus grabbed her arm, “Is he okay?!?”

At that she looked to Henry, who was already turning to leave, “You got this?” he asked the detectives gesturing to Gus and the burning hulk.

They nodded.

“Is Shawn okay?!!” Gus repeated, more than a little demand in his tone.

Henry met his gaze, “I don’t know,” was all he said and he got into his truck and left.

Gus watched him for a moment before turning back to Juliet, worry and questions all over his face.

Lassiter continued, “Spencer saw Miller was going to shoot O’Hara so he… he got her out of the line of fire,”

“He saved my life!” Juliet interjected.

“…but he aggravated some of his injuries. He was having trouble breathing again. _Then_ he told us your car was going to blow so we headed here while the paramedics took him to the hospital.”

Gus thought for a moment, trying to grasp everything that had happened in the few short hours since he’d last seen Shawn, “I think I need to sit down.”

Juliet glanced at her partner and then took Gus by the elbow and led him to the steps. She would try to answer all of his questions, and at the same time, take his statement about the night’s events.

Lassiter went to deal with the fire crews and police that had arrived in response to the explosion.

oO0Oo

Henry strode into the hospital with a single-minded purpose. Gus was safe. Karen Miller was in custody. The only thing on his mind was Shawn.

After a brief stop at the nurses’ station, (you get quicker answers when the nurses already know you) he headed for Shawn’s room, and, entering, was met with an all-too-familiar sight: The lighting was dim and the room was quiet except for the familiar soft beeping of the heart monitor and the hated sound of the ventilator. His son was absolutely still, tubes and wires leading from him to various machines.

He breathed a deep sigh and thought of the hundreds, perhaps thousands of times he had wished Shawn would calm down and be quiet. Right now he would take every single one back just to hear the sound of his voice.

The door behind him opened and Shawn’s doctor entered. “Mr. Spencer – I didn’t know you were here-”

“How’s Shawn?” he interrupted.

“Just give me one moment to check on that very thing, and I will meet you outside? We just got him settled and I want to make certain he’s as comfortable as possible.” The doctor was not the least bit intimidated by Henry’s gruff exterior. He’d seen enough evidence of the affection his young patient drew from everyone around him, his father most of all.

Henry’s eyes narrowed at the request but he left the room while the doctor examined Shawn.

When he’d finished, he stepped outside and smiled gently, “I guess you weren’t kidding when you said it would be hard to get Shawn to take it easy.”

It briefly occurred to him that his son hadn’t been out of the hospital for even 24 hours, but Henry wasn’t interested in small talk, “How is he?” he demanded.

The doctor smiled briefly before continuing, “Your son is strong, and more importantly, stubborn.”

Henry snorted – but not in amusement.

“He is – barring any unforeseen complications – going to be completely fine.”

Henry frowned suspiciously, “What happened? He was bleeding and he couldn’t breathe.”

The doctor nodded patiently, “Yes. He tore a few stiches, but that was easily fixed. Shawn’s biggest issue currently, is exhaustion – pure and simple. In his weakened condition, exhaustion takes a great toll – _much_ more than in an otherwise healthy person. Add in the fact that his chest is far from fully healed and still very tender and it becomes almost impossible to take the full breaths he needs. His body became dangerously starved for oxygen.” He didn’t mention to the worried father that Shawn’s heart _had_ stopped – twice – before they were able to stabilize him. He saw no need to mention it because it was beating strong and steady now, and showed every sign that it would continue to do so.

“What now?” Henry asked, clearly not sure if he could believe the doctor’s optimism.

“Well, in light of recent events, we are going to keep him heavily sedated for a while. He’s going to stay exactly as you saw him for a few days at least…” He decided not to elaborate on all those ‘unforeseen complications’ that could still arise. He didn’t need to. Henry already knew. “We’ll be monitoring him very carefully.” He reached out a hand and patted Henry’s shoulder briefly, “He’s going to be fine, Henry,” and he was gone. He had other patients to see to.

Henry stood alone in the hallway, lost in thought for several moments.

‘Exhaustion’ the doctor had said, and the last few weeks had washed over him again in a rush. And then he realized: Every single thing that Shawn had been through had happened because his son was a hero. He’d been shot stopping a criminal. He’d been beaten within an inch of his life rescuing his best friend from certain death. He’d been impaled because he’d put his friends’ lives ahead of his own. And now he was back in the hospital because he’d laid a trap for a killer and he’d been unwilling to risk anyone else. He never hesitated to step in and do what he knew was right – regardless of the risk to himself – just like his dad had taught him.

He was still standing there when Gus arrived, shaken from his near-brush with death. “How’s Shawn?” he asked, his voice laced with desperation. Seeing Henry standing alone and unmoving in the hallway outside Shawn’s room had given him a moment of panic.

He looked past Gus’s worried face and into the distance as he remembered all the times he’d told Shawn he was disappointed. He resolved, at that moment, to find a way to let his son know, on a regular basis, how proud he was… Just… maybe not with words. They were Spencer Men, after all. And Shawn did have a tendency to relish any perceived praise a little more than he should.

“Is Shawn okay?” Gus’s voice was starting to tremble.

Henry met Gus’s eyes, rested a hand on his shoulder, and said confidently, “He’s gonna be just fine.” And when Gus smiled weakly at that, obviously intensely relieved, he added, “Let’s go tell him that _you’re_ okay.”

“He’s awake?”

They turned and Henry opened the door.

“Noo – but that won’t stop him from hearing you.”

They entered the dimly lit room.

“It’s a company car, you know...”

“It _was_ …” Henry couldn’t resist teasing him.

The door swung shut behind them.

oO0Oo

It was almost a week before Shawn was back to the ‘sitting up in bed and visiting with friends’ stage.

In the meantime Henry had a cot brought into the room, as he wasn’t leaving Shawn alone again.

Abigail finally returned and was suitably miffed that her boyfriend had been shot, kidnapped, beaten, impaled etc. etc. and she hadn’t heard a thing about it. Thankfully for Shawn, she heard the whole story from Henry while the object of her ire was still under heavy sedation. It was hard to get angry at someone on life support, and what little frustration she felt had time to cool before he woke up and started breathing on his own again.

“Is it always like this?” She’d asked Henry.

He’d just smiled at her, “Sometimes it gets _really_ exciting.” Then, knowing she’d be there for a while, he’d kissed her on the top of her head and gone home for a shower and a few hours’ sleep.

oO0Oo

Five months later it was another perfect Santa Barbara morning: bright sunshine in a clear blue sky, warm but not quite hot, with just a bit of breeze off the ocean. It was beautiful. And Shawn Spencer was happy; purely, simply, uncomplicatedly happy.

He stood in front of the Psych office next to his Norton, his helmet under his arm. He took a deep, satisfying breath as he looked out at the ocean waves rolling in. His best friend was inside at his desk, trying very hard _not_ to pay attention to what Shawn was doing.

The Blueberry2 was parked next to him. He’d had a fantastic time that morning pulling up in front of Gus’s place to pick him up in it. Gus had been completely surprised and more than a little overwhelmed – just as Shawn had planned. He’d even had to drive them to the office - chuckling all the way, as Gus was too excited and wanted to play with all the new upgrades with which the Blueberry2 came equipped.

It hadn’t been the easiest thing to get Central Coast to replace the Blueberry with a –nearly- identical car. But it was even _harder_ getting them to do it with no penalty to Gus himself. Two factors had contributed greatly to his success in this endeavor: The Chief’s firm support behind his claims that the Blueberry had only been destroyed because their employee was a model citizen who was helping make Santa Barbara a safer place. The second and perhaps deciding factor was that Gus had helped save Central Coast from financial ruin – or – at least financial difficulty. Shawn had learned that the armored truck had belonged to their bank and, FDIC or not – a theft of that magnitude would have damaged the company financially. At least - that’s what Shawn had been able to convince Mr. Ogletree was the case.

And so the Blueberry was brought back to life. Shawn wanted to make it the ‘zombie-mobile’ for just that reason, but he knew it was too soon to suggest it to Gus.

The joyful task of reuniting Gus with the Blueberry accomplished, Shawn had the rest of his day planned out: He was taking Abs on a picnic, and then later to a movie. But first he had something else he wanted to do.

He had behaved himself over these last months. He had been very faithful in all his physical therapy and his assigned exercises, and he hardly even had a limp any more. It helped that Abs was always there to encourage him, even if she had a tendency to treat him as if he were fragile and occasionally made him feel a bit smothered. He didn’t mind. He liked all the extra attention – even Lassie had been treating him a little better than usual – and he had developed a tendency to milk it for all it was worth. It reminded him daily that there were people around who cared about him and it was a nice feeling.

But so was the Norton: He hadn’t been on his bike since the morning Gus had disappeared (and technically he wasn’t supposed to be on it now – which was why Gus was carefully _not_ looking). He was _long_ overdue for some serious freedom.

He had been looking forward to this for over a week. He wasn’t planning to go far. Contrary to popular opinion, he wasn’t reckless… much. He definitely didn’t want any more setbacks in his recovery. But he had every intention of spending a glorious hour zipping up and down the 101: Weaving in and out of traffic; Earning more than a few glares from moms in minivans; Going just _slightly_ over the speed limit (because having to talk his way out of ticket from one of the SBPD’s finest was just not on the agenda for today); And feeling the wind in his face.

It really was the purest form of freedom he had ever experienced.

oO0Oo  
END  
oO0Oo

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I've caught your interest… Please leave a review if you are so inclined. -Papaya


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